WlitarySerYitude 
and  Grandeur 

Alfred  de  Vigny 


TfiAMSLATED    BY 
FRANCES  WILSON  MWARD 


^ 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE 
AND  GRANDEUR 

BY 

ALFRED  DE  VIGNY 


TRANSLATION  AND  NOTE  BY 
FRANCES  WILSON  HUARD 

AUTHOR  OF  "my  HOME  IN  THE  FIELD  OF  HONOUR," 
"my  HOME   IN   THE   FIELD   OF  MERCY,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW  ^^Uar  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1919, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE 

Alfred  de  Vigny  having  expressed  the  de- 
sire that  his  works  never  be  preceded  by  a  pref- 
ace, or  a  critical  study  of  any  kind,  one  can 
but  respect  the  wishes  of  the  great  French 
poet,  and  refer  those  anxious  to  know  more  of 
his  history  to  the  writings  of  Messieurs  St. 
Beuve,  Ratisbonne,  Brunetiere,  Lemaitre, 
France,  etc. 

The  book  on  our  own  great  war  has  not  been 
written.  We  are  still  too  close  to  events  to  see 
them  in  their  just  light.  Time  and  meditation 
will  be  necessary  to  produce  such  a  volume. 
But,  anxious  that  the  American  public  should 
better  comprehend  how  pure  and  profound  are 
the  sources  of  French  patriotism,  I  have  asked 
the  George  H.  Doran  Company  to  publish  this 
volume.  Though  first  brought  out  in  1835,  it 
contains  so  much  that  is  analogous  to  the  spirit 
that  has  inspired  our  modern  heroes  that  it 
might  almost  be  called  a  war  book. 

I  do  not  know  what  fate  awaits  it  in  its  new;  1 

[v] 


43G0o5 


TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE 


garb,  but  the  work  of  translation  and  editing 
has  been  done  with  ahnost  pious  care,  and  with 
no  other  thought  than  that  of  rendering  hom- 
age to  its  author. 

F.  W.  H. 
January,  1919. 


Ivi] 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 
MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

I  My  Motive  in  These  Reminiscences      .  11 

II  The  General  Character  of  the  Armies  25 
III  The  Life  of  a  Soldier  and  His  Individual 

Character  .     .     .  ^. 32 

BOOK  II 
LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

I  An  Encounter  on   the  Highway  One 

Day 43 

II  History  of  the  Red  Seal   .     .     .     .     .  53 

III  I  Continue  My  Journey 84 

BOOK  III 
THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 

I  Responsibility 97 

II  The  Scruples  of  Honour  of  a  Soldier    108 

III  The  Love  of  Danger 116 

IV  The  Family  Concert 122 

V  History  of  the  Adjutant;  the  Children 

OF  Montreuil  and  the  Mason  .     .     .     130 

VI  A  Passing  Sigh 135 

[vii] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB  PAGE 

VII  The  Rose  Lady 136 

VIII  A  First  Rate  Position 144 

IX  A  Seance 152 

X  A  Beautiful  Evening 157 

XI  Conclusion  of  the  History  of  the  Adju- 
tant   168 

'XII  The  Awakening 172 

Xni  A  Sketch  in  Pencil 179 

BOOK  IV 

THE  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  CAPTAIN  RENAUD, 
OR  THE  MALACCA  CANE 

I  Retrospect 187 

II  A  Memorable  Night 191 

III  Malta 202 

IV  A  Simple  Letter 208 

.    V  The  Unknown  Dialogue 218 

VI  A  Man  of  the  Sea 241 

VII  The  Reception 277 

VIII  The  Russian  Guard 281 

IX  A  Marble 298 

X  Conclusion 310 


[viii] 


BOOK  I 

MILITARY  SERVITUDE 
AND  GRANDEUR 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE 
AND  GRANDEUR 

CHAPTER  I 
MY  MOTIVE   IN  THESE  REMINISCENCES 

If  it  is  true,  as  the  Catholic  poet  said,  that 
there  is  no  greater  pain  than  to  recall  happy- 
hours  in  misery,  it  is  true  also  that  the  spirit 
finds  a  little  happiness  in  recalling,  at  a  mo- 
ment of  serenity  and  freedom,  the  hours  of 
suffering  and  bondage.  This  melancholy 
emotion  makes  me  cast  a  backward  glance 
over  a  few  years  of  my  life,  although  those 
years  are  quite  close  to  this  one,  and  this  life 
has  not  been  very  long  as  yet. 

I  cannot  help  saying  how  much  I  have  seen 
of  suffering,  little  known,  and  bravely  borne 
by  a  race  of  men  which  has  always  been  either 
scorned  or  honoured  beyond  measure,  accord- 
ing to  whether  other  nations  found  it  useful 
or  necessary. 

Nevertheless  it  is  not  that  sentiment  alone 

[11] 


military;  SK'aVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 


which  lil'ges  me  to  this  writing,  and  I  hope  at 
times  it  may  serve  to  show,  through  details  of 
the  moral  principles  my  eyes  have  observed, 
all  that  still  remains  benighted  and  barbarous 
in  the  wholly  modern  organisation  of  standing 
armies,  where  the  fighting  man  is  set  apart 
from  the  citizen ;  where  the  former  is  unhappy 
and  fierce,  because  he  is  aware  of  his  abnormal 
and  absurd  situation.  It  is  sad  that  everything 
about  us  should  change,  and  the  destiny  of 
Armies  alone  remains  unaltered.  Christian 
law  once  changed  the  ferocious  methods  of  war- 
fare. But  the  consequences  of  the  new  prin- 
ciples it  introduced  have  not  been  carried  far 
enough  on  this  head.  Before  its  coming  the 
vanquished  was  either  massacred  or  enslaved 
for  life,  the  captured  towns  were  sacked,  the 
inhabitants  were  driven  out  and  scattered. 
Therefore,  each  terrified  State  would  keep  in 
constant  readiness  with  desperate  counter 
measures,  and  the  defence  was  as  atrocious  as 
the  attack. 

At  present,  conquered  cities  have  to  fear 
naught  save  the  payment  of  contributions.^ 

^  This  is  true  theoretically  at  least.  But  German  practice 
has  flaunted  this  precept  of  civilised  warfare.  The  trans- 
lator recalls  anew  that  this  book  was  written  in  1835. 

[12] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

So  warefare  has  become  civilised.  But  the 
Armies  have  not.  For  not  only  has  the  rou- 
tine of  our  customs  preserved  all  that  was 
wrong  in  them,  but  the  ambition  or  the  fears 
of  Governments  have  increased  the  ill  by  set- 
ting them  daily  farther  apart  from  the  coun- 
try, and  by  making  them  into  a  servitude 
more  idle  and  uncouth  than  ever.  I  have  little 
faith  in  the  benefits  of  suddenly  contrived  or- 
ganisations, but  I  understand  those  of  succes- 
sive changes  for  the  better.  When  general  at- 
tention has  been  called  to  a  wound,  its  cure  is 
not  long  in  coming.  No  doubt  this  cure  is  a 
difficult  problem  for  the  legislator  to  solve,  but 
that  makes  it  all  the  more  necessary  to  have 
put  it. 

This  I  do  here.  And  if  our  era  is  not  des- 
tined to  achieve  its  solution,  at  least  it  shall 
have  been  I  who  formulated  the  desire  for  it, 
and,  therefore,  perhaps  lessened  its  difficulties. 

The  era  in  which  the  Armies  shall  be  identi- 
fied with  the  Nation  cannot  be  hastened  too 
much,  if  it  must  lead  to  the  time  when  Armies 
and  War  shall  be  no  more,  and  when  the  earth 
shall  hold  but  one  Nation,  of  one  mind  upon 
her  social  forms  at  last — ^which  event  should 
have  been  brought  about  long  since. 

[18] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

I  have  no  design  whatever  to  draw  interest 
to  myself,  and  these  reminiscences  shall  be 
rather  the  memoirs  of  others  than  my  own. 
But  I  have  long  enough  been  keenly  hurt  by 
the  strangeness  of  Ai^my  life  to  be  qualified 
to  speak  of  it.  It  is  only  to  prove  this  sorry 
right  of  mine,  that  I  say  a  few  words  about 
myself, 

I  belong  to  that  generation  born  with  the 
(nineteenth)  century,  which,  fed  upon  the  Em- 
peror's bulletins,  always  had  a  drawn  sword 
before  its  eyes,  and  which  came  to  take  it  up 
at  the  very  moment  when  France  resheathed 
it  in  the  Bourbon  scabbard.  And  so,  in  this 
modest  picture  of  an  obscure  part  of  my  life,  I 
want  to  appear  only  as  I  was,  to  my  deep  re- 
gret, a  spectator  more  than  an  actor.  The 
events  I  sought  never  turned  out  as  big  as  I 
would  have  wanted  them.  What  could  I  do 
about  it  ?  One  cannot  always  play  the  part  he 
would  have  wished,  and  the  coat  does  not  al- 
ways come  to  us  at  the  moment  we  might  wear 
it  to  best  advantage.  At  the  time  in  which  I 
am  writing,^  a  man  of  twenty  years'  service 
has  never  seen  a  pitched  battle.  I  have  few 
adventures  to  relate  to  you,  but  I  have  heard 

^In  1835. 

[14] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

of  many.  So  I  shall  let  the  others  speak  more 
than  myself,  except  when  I  may  be  forced  to 
call  myself  as  a  witness.  I  have  always  felt  a 
little  repugnance  against  that,  being  hindered 
from  it  by  a  certain  bashf ulness  at  the  moment 
of  introducing  myself  upon  the  scene.  When 
it  shall  occur,  I  may  vouch  at  least  for  my 
truthfulness  in  those  spots.  When  people 
speak  of  themselves  the  best  muse  is  frank- 
ness. I  could  not,  with  good  grace,  adorn 
myself  with  peacocks'  feathers.  Beautiful 
though  they  are,  I  believe  every  one  should  pre- 
fer his  own  to  them.  I  am  not  sufficiently 
modest,  I  admit,  to  believe  that  I  should  gain 
much  by  putting  on  a  little  of  some  one  else's 
finery,  and  posing  in  grand  attitudes,  artisti- 
cally chosen  and  painfully  preserved  at  the  ex- 
pense of  good  natural  inclinations  and  the  in- 
nate leaning  towards  truthfulness  we  all  pos- 
sess. I  don't  know  but  that  in  our  day  abuse 
has  been  made  of  such  literary  aping.  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  frowns  of  Bonaparte  and  Byron 
have  set  many  an  innocent  face  to  grimacing. 

Life  is  too  short  that  we  should  lose  a  pre- 
cious part  of  it  disfiguring  ourselves.  If  we 
had  to  do  with  a  crude  and  easily  duped  peo- 
ple!    But  ours  have  such  a  keen  and  readv 

[15] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

eye.  They  recognise  instantly  from  which 
model  you  borrow  this  word  or  that  gesture^ 
this  speech  or  that  favourite  bearing,  or  even 
such  a  headgear  or  such  a  coat.  They  blow 
first  of  all  on  the  frills  of  your  mask,  scorning 
your  true  face,  the  natural  features  of  which 
they  might  otherwise  have  taken  in  a  friendly 
manner. 

So  I  will  not  make  myself  out  much  of  a 
warrior,  having  seen  little  of  war.  But  I  have 
the  right  to  speak  of  the  manly  customs  in  the 
Army,  where  fatigue  and  irksomeness  were 
never  spared  me,  customs  which  tempered  my 
soul  to  an  all-enduring  patience  by  making 
it  throw  back  all  its  forces  upon  solitary  medi- 
tation and  study.  I  could  show  also  what  there 
is  that  endears  in  the  savage  life  of  arms,  hard 
though  it  be,  having  remained  therein  so  long, 
between  the  echoes  and  the  dreams  of  battles. 
They  would  assuredly  have  been  fourteen  lost 
years,  had  I  not  employed  them  in  attentive 
and  persevering  observation,  which  profited 
by  everything  for  future  use.  I  even  owe  to 
the  Army  views  on  human  nature  which  I 
could  never  have  found  elsewhere  than  beneath 
the  military  uniform.  There  are  scenes  which 
could  never  arise  save  through  aversions  that 

[16] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

would  be  truly  intolerable  if  one  were  not  hon- 
our-bound to  tolerate  them. 

I  have  always  liked  listening  and,  when  I 
was  a  wee  child,  I  very  soon  acquired  this  taste 
on  my  old  father's  wounded  knees.  First  he 
fed  me  on  the  accounts  of  his  campaigns,  and 
on  his  lap  I  found  War  seated  beside  me.  He 
showed  me  what  War  meant  by  his  wounds, 
in  the  parchments  and  in  his  ancestors'  Coat- 
of-Arms,  in  the  great  pictures  of  them  in  ar- 
mour which  hung  in  an  old  Chateau  in  the 
Beauce.  I  saw  in  the  Nobility  one  great  fam- 
ily of  hereditary  soldiers  and  I  thought  only 
of  growing  to  a  soldier's  size. 

My  father  told  of  his  long  wars  with  the 
profound  observation  of  a  philosopher  and  the 
graciousness  of  a  courtier.  Through  him  I 
knew  intimately  Louis  XIV  and  Frederick  the 
Great.  I  should  like  to  declare  that  I  did  not 
live  of  their  days,  so  familiar  do  I  feel  with 
them  through  the  many  tales  of  the  Seven 
Years'  War. 

My  father  had  for  Frederick  II  an  enlight- 
ened admiration  which  sees  the  high  abilities 
without  marvelling  at  them  beyond  measure. 
From  the  very  first  he  stirred  my  mind  with 
this  view,  telling  me  how  too  much  enthusiasm 

[17] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

fpr  this  illustrious  enemy  had  been  a  mistake 
of  the  officers  of  his  time;  thereby  they  were 
already  half  beaten  when  Frederick  advanced, 
made  more  formidable  by  French  exaltation. 
Then,  the  division  among  themselves  of  the 
three  powers,  and  of  the  French  Generals 
among  themselves,  had  abetted  the  dazzling 
fortune  of  his  arms.  But  his  greatness,  above 
all,  had  been  to  know  himself  perfectly,  to  ap- 
praise at  their  true  value  the  elements  of  his 
rise  and,  with  the  modesty  of  a  sage,  to  do  the 
honours  of  his  victory.  He  seemed  to  think 
sometimes  that  Europe  had  helped  him  to  it. 

My  father  had  seen  this  philosopher  king  at 
close  range,  on  the  battlefields  where  his 
brother,  the  eldest  of  my  seven  uncles,  had  been 
carried  off  by  a  cannon  ball.  He  had  been  fre- 
quently received  by  the  king  under  the  Prus- 
sian tent,  with  a  graciousness  and  courtesy 
that  were  wholly  French,  and  had  heard  him 
discuss  Voltaire  and  play  the  flute  after  a  suc- 
cessful battle. 

I  find  myself  almost  involuntarily  speaking 
at  length  here,  because  this  was  the  first  great 
man  whose  portrait  was  thus,  at  home,  limned 
for  me  from  nature,  and  because  my  admira- 
tion for  him  was  the  first  symptom  of  my  f u- 

[18] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

tile  love  of  arms,  the  primary  cause  of  one  of 
the  most  complete  deceptions  of  my  life.  This 
portrait  is  still  bright  in  my  memory,  with 
most  vivid  colours;  and  the  physical  portrait 
quite  as  much  so  as  the  other :  His  hat  pushed 
forward  over  a  powdered  forehead ;  his  stooped 
shoulders  on  horseback;  his  big  eyes;  his 
mouth,  mocking  and  severe;  his  invalid's  cane 
made  like  a  crutch, — nothing  was  strange  to 
me.  Coming  out  of  these  tales  I  saw  but 
grudgingly  Bonaparte  take  his  hat  or  snuffbox 
and  make  similar  gestures.  He  seemed  a  pla- 
giarist to  me  at  first.  And  who  knows  but  that 
the  great  man  was  a  trifle  a  plagiarist  on  this 
point  anyway?  Who  may  weigh  how  much  of 
the  comedian  enters  into  any  man  always  in  the 
public  eye?  Was  not  Frederick  II  the  first 
type  of  the  big  captain  of  modern  tactics,  of 
the  philosopher  king  and  organiser? 

Those  were  the  first  ideas  roused  in  my  mind, 
and  I  lived  through  other  periods  recounted 
with  a  truthfulness  filled  with  sane  lessons.  I 
can  still  hear  my  father  all  exasperated  over  the 
disputes  between  the  Prince  de  Soubise  and 
Monsieur  de  Clermont.  I  can  still  hear  his 
great  indignation  at  the  intrigues  of  FOeil- 
de-Boeuf,  that  caused  the  French  generals  to 

[19] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

leave  each  other  in  the  lurch  each  in  turn  and 
on  the  battlefield,  preferring  the  defeat  of  the 
Army  to  the  triumph  of  a  rival.  I  hear  him 
deeply  moved  with  his  old  friendships  for  Mon- 
sieur de  Chevert  and  for  Monsieur  d'Assas, 
with  whom  he  was  in  camp  the  night  of  the 
latter's  death. 

The  eyes  that  had  seen  them  put  their  im- 
ages into  mine,  as  well  as  those  of  many  fa- 
mous personages  dead  long  before  my  birth. 
Family  stories  have  the  advantage  of  graving 
themselves  more  strongly  into  the  mind  than 
written  narratives.  They  are  vivid  as  the  be- 
loved story-teller  himself  and  they  lengthen 
our  life  backward,  the  way  an  imagination 
which  divines  may  lengthen  it  ahead  into  the 
future. 

I  do  not  know  if  I  shall  write  some  day,  for 
myself,  all  the  intimate  details  of  my  life,  but 
here  I  will  speak  only  of  one  of  the  prepos- 
sessions of  my  soul.  Sometimes  when  the  spirit 
is  tormented  by  the  past  and  expects  little  of 
the  future,  one  yields  too  easily  to  the  temp- 
tation of  amusing  idlers  with  one's  family  se- 
crets and  one's  heart's  mysteries.  I  am  aware 
that  some  writers  have  been  pleased  to  let  all 
eyes  penetrate  into  the  innermost  of  their  lives 

[20] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

and  of  their  consciences,  even  opening  them  to 
and  letting  them  be  surprised  by  the  light,  all 
disordered  and  encumbered  by  familiar  mem- 
ories and  most  cherished  faults.  Works  like 
those  are  among  the  finest  books  in  our  tongue 
and  will  remain  with  us  like  those  self-portraits 
Raphael  never  ceased  painting.  But  the  peo- 
ple who  have  pictured  themselves  in  this  way, 
either  veiled  or  barefaced,  have  had  the  right  to 
do  so.  I  do  not  think  that  one  can  make  his 
confessions  aloud  before  being  either  old 
enough,  or  famous  enough,  or  repentant 
enough  to  interest  a  whole  nation  in  his  sins. 
Until  then  one  may  scarcely  pretend  to  be  of 
use  to  the  nation  except  by  his  ideas  or  his 
actions. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  Empire  I  was  a 
heedless  schoolboy.  War  was  stirring  in  the 
schools.  The  drum  smothered  the  masters' 
voices  in  my  ears,  and  the  mysterious  voice  of 
the  books  spoke  but  a  cold  and  pedantic  lan- 
guage. Logarithms  and  tropes  in  our  eyes 
were  but  steps  by  which  to  climb  to  the  star  of 
the  Legion  of  Honour,  for  children  the  most 
beautiful  star  in  the  heavens. 

No  meditation  whatever  could  long  restrain 
heads  that  were  ceaselessly  dizzied  by  the  guns 

[21] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

and  the  bells  of  the  Te  Deum!  When  one  of 
our  chums  who  had  left  college  a  few  months 
since,  would  reappear  in  a  hussar's  uniform, 
his  arm  in  a  sling,  we  lolushed  over  our  books 
and  threw  them  at  the  masters'  heads.  The 
masters  themselves  never  stopped  reading  us 
the  bulletins  of  the  Grande  Armee,  and  our 
cries  of  Vive  VEmpereur!  interrupted  Taci- 
tus and  Plato.  Our  preceptors  resembled  her- 
alds at  arms,  our  classrooms  looked  like  bar- 
racks, our  recreations  were  as  drills  and  our 
examinations  like  army  reviews. 

Then  more  than  ever  a  truly  ungovernable 
love  for  the  glory  of  arms  took  hold  of  me; 
a  passion  all  the  more  unfortunate  because  it 
was  the  exact  time  when,  as  I  have  said,  France 
began  to  be  cured  of  it.  But  the  storm  was 
still  growling.  And  neither  my  severe,  harsh, 
compulsory  and  too  precocious  studies,  nor 
the  noise  of  the  great  world,  in  which  I  had 
plunged  over-young  to  divert  me  from  my  in- 
clination, could  rid  me  of  my  fixed  idea. 

I  have  often  smiled  pityingly  at  myself  on 
seeing  how  strongly  an  idea  gets  hold  of  one, 
how  it  cheats  one,  and  how  much  time  it  takes 
to  rid  oneself  of  it.  Satiety  itself  merely  suc- 
ceeded in  making  me  disobey  it,  not  in  destroy- 

[22] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

ing  it  within  me,  and  this  book  also  proves 
that  I  still  enjoy  caressing  it,  and  that  I  am  not 
far  from  relapsing  into  its  sway.  Thus  deep 
are  childhood  impressions,  and  thus  the  burn- 
ing mark  of  the  Roman  Eagle  was  graven 
upon  our  hearts. 

Only  long  afterwards  did  I  perceive  that 
my  service  had  been  one  long  mistake  and  that, 
to  a  wholly  active  life,  I  had  brought  an  en- 
tirely contemplative  nature.  But  I  had  fol- 
lowed the  bent  of  that  generation  of  the  Em- 
pire, born  with  the  Century,  and  to  which  I 
belong. 

War  seemed  to  us  so  much  the  natural  con- 
dition of  our  country,  that  we  could  not  believe 
the  calm  of  peace  would  last  when,  released 
from  our  studies,  we  had  flung  ourselves  into 
the  Army,  following  the  usual  course  of  our 
torrent.  It  seemed  to  us  that  we  risked  nothing 
in  making  believe  we  were  resting,  and  that 
supineness,  in  France,  was  not  a  grave  evil. 
This  impression  lasted  as  long  as  did  the  Res- 
toration. Each  year  brought  the  hope  of  a 
war.  We  did  not  dare  lay  down  the  sword  for 
fear  that  the  day  on  which  we  resigned  might 
be  the  eve  of  a  campaign.  So  we  trailed  along 
and  lost  precious  years,  dreaming  of  the  bat- 

[23] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

tlefield  in  the  Champ-de-Mars,  and  exhaust- 
ing a  powerful  but  useless  energy  in  parade 
exercises  and  private  quarrels. 

Overwhelmed  by  a  tediousness  which  I  had 
not  expected  in  this  life  I  had  so  keenly  desired, 
it  became  a  need  for  me  to  escape,  of  nights, 
the  wearying  and  vain  tumult  of  the  military 
days.  Out  of  these  nights,  in  which  I  silently 
enhanced  whatever  knowledge  I  had  gained 
from  our  tumultuous  public  studies,  came 
forth  my  poems  and  my  books.  Out  of  those 
days  I  retained  the  reminiscences,  the  main 
features  of  which  I  am  collecting  here,  around 
an  idea.  For,  taking  into  account  neither  the 
present  nor  the  future  for  the  glory  of  arms, 
I  have  sought  it  in  the  memories  of  my  com- 
panions. What  little  happened  to  me  will 
serve  merely  as  a  frame  to  these  pictures  of 
military  life  and  of  the  customs  of  our  armies, 
of  which  not  all  the  phases  are  known. 


[24] 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  GENERAL   CHARACTER   OF  THE  ARMIES 

The  Army  is  a  nation  within  the  nation.  It 
is  one  of  the  vices  of  our  times.  In  antiquity  it 
was  otherwise:  each  citizen  was  a  warrior  and 
each  warrior  was  a  citizen.  The  army  men  and 
the  city  men  had  faces  that  were  much  alike. 
Fear  of  the  gods  and  of  the  laws,  loyalty  to 
country,  austerity  of  morals,  and — strange 
thing! — love  of  peace  and  order  were  to  be 
found  more  often  in  the  camps  than  in  the 
cities,  because  it  was  the  flower  of  the  nation 
that  inhabited  them. 

Peace  had  even  harder  tasks  than  war  for 
these  intelligent  armies.  By  them  their  coun- 
try's soil  was  covered  with  public  buildings  or 
furrowed  with  great  highways,  and  the  Ro- 
man mortar  of  the  aqueducts  was  moulded,  like 
Rome  herself,  by  the  hands  that  defended  her. 
The  repose  of  the  soldiers,  in  peace  time,  was 
as  fruitful  as  that  of  ours  is  barren  and  detri- 

[25] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

mental.  The  citizens  had  neither  a  hysterical 
admiration  for  their  valour,  nor  scorn  for  their 
idleness  because  the  same  blood  circulated 
unceasingly  from  the  veins  of  the  Nation  into 
the  veins  of  the  Army. 

In  the  Middle  Ages  on  down  until  the  end 
of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV,  the  Army  clung  to 
the  Nation,  if  not  through  all  of  its  soldiers, 
at  least  through  all  of  their  chiefs,  because  the 
soldier  was  the  nobleman's  man,  raised  by  him 
on  his  estate,  taken  into  the  Army  in  his  suite, 
and  depending  on  him  alone.  The  soldier's 
master,  then,  was  a  landowner  who  lived  in 
the  very  bosom  of  his  mother  country.  Under 
the  very  popular  influence  of  the  priest,  he  did 
nothing,  in  the  middle  ages,  but  devote  himself 
body  and  wealth  to  his  country,  frequently  in 
struggles  against  the  crown,  and  ceaselessly 
in  revolt  against  a  hierarchy  of  powers,  obedi- 
ence to  which  would  have  led  to  too  deep  abase- 
ment, and  consequently  to  humiliation  of  the 
profession  of  arms. 

The  regiment  belonged  to  the  Colonel,  the 
company  to  the  Captain  and  both  the  one  and 
the  other  were  quite  capable  of  taking  their 
men  away  with  them  whenever  their  conscience, 
as  citizens,  did  not  approve  the  orders  they  re- 

[26] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

ceived  as  warriors.  This  independence  of  the 
Army  lasted,  in  France,  until  the  days  of  Lou- 
vois,  who  first  subjected  the  Army  to  the 
Government  offices  and  placed  it  again,  bound 
hand  and  foot,  in  the  clutch  of  the  Sovereign 
Power. 

In  this  he  met  with  no  little  resistance.  The 
last  defenders  of  the  generous  liberty  of  the 
fighting  men  were  those  rough  and  ready  no- 
blemen who  would  take  their  household  soldiers 
into  the  Army  only  to  go  to  war.  Although 
they  did  not  spend  the  year  eternally  drilling 
their  men  to  become  automatons,  I  notice  that 
the  latter  came  off  quite  well  on  Turenne's  bat- 
tlefields. They  particularly  hated  the  uniform 
which  made  every  one  look  alike  and  sub- 
jected the  spirit  to  the  coat  and  not  to  the  man. 
They  loved  to  dress  in  red  on  days  of  battle 
so  as  to  be  better  seen  by  their  own  men,  and 
better  aimed  at  by  the  enemy. 

I  like  to  recall  Mirabeau's  story  of  the  old 
Marquis  de  Coetquen,  who,  rather  than  appear 
in  uniform  at  the  King's  review,  suffered  him- 
self to  be  broken  by  the  king  at  the  head  of  his 
regiment.  "It  is  fortunate,  Sire,  that  though 
broken  the  pieces  are  left  to  me,"  said  he  aft- 

[27] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

erwards.  It  was  something  to  have  made  such 
a  reply  to  Louis  XIV. 

Now  I  do  not  ignore  the  thousand  short- 
comings of  the  organisation  which  expired 
then  and  there,  but  I  do  say  that  it  had  this 
advantage  over  ours  in  that  it  permitted  the 
national,  warlike  fire  of  France  to  crackle  and 
blaze  more  freely.  This  sort  of  army  was  a 
very  strong  and  very  complete  armour  with 
which  the  country  covered  the  Sovereign 
Power,  but  from  which  all  the  pieces  might 
detach  themselves  at  will,  one  after  another, 
whenever  that  Power  used  them  against  her. 

The  destiny  of  a  modern  Army  is  quite  dif- 
ferent to  that,  and  the  centralisation  of  the 
Powers  has  made  it  what  it  is.  It  is  a  body  set 
apart  from  the  great  body  of  the  nation.  It 
resembles  the  body  of  a  child  inasmuch  as  its 
intelligence  is  backward  and  has  been  forbid- 
den to  grow.  No  sooner  has  the  modern  Army 
ceased  fighting  than  it  becomes  a  sort  of  police 
force.  It  feels  ashamed  of  itself  and  knows 
neither  what  it  is  doing  nor  what  it  is.  It  asks 
itself  constantly  if  it  be  slave  or  sovereign  of 
the  State.  It  is  a  body  seeking  everywhere  for 
its  soul  and  cannot  seem  to  find  it. 

[28] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

The  "Sold"  man/  the  Soldier,  is  a  glorious 
but  miserable  being,  a  victim  and  an  execu- 
tioner— a  scapegoat  sacrificed  daily  to  his  peo- 
ple and  for  his  people  who  make  a  plaything 
of  him.  He  is  a  martyr,  at  the  same  time  fe- 
rocious and  humble,  bandied  between  the  Sov- 
ereign Power  and  the  Nation  who  are  forever 
at  odds  concerning  him. 

How  many  times  when  I  have  had  to  take 
my  obscure  but  active  part  in  our  civil  troubles, 
have  I  felt  my  conscience  become  indignant  at 
this  inferior  and  cruel  condition!  How  many 
times  have  I  compared  this  existence  to  that 
of  the  gladiator !  The  people  are  the  indiffer- 
ent Csesar,  the  sneering  Claudius,  to  whom  the 
soldiers  coarsely  say  in  passing:  "Those  who 
go  to  die  salute  thee." 

Let  some  workmen,  growing  the  worse  off 
the  more  their  labour  and  industry  increase, 
start  to  rebel  against  their  employer;  or  sup- 
pose that  some  manufacturer  has  a  notion  to 
swell  his  income  by  a  few  hundred  thousand 
francs  this  year  or  simply  that  some  "good 
town,"  jealous  of  Paris,  would  like  to  have  its 
three-day  shooting  party, — cries  for  help  are 

^  The  translator  acknowledges  taking  etymological 
liberties. 

[29] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

immediately  issued.  The  govermnent,  what- 
ever it  be,  rephes  quite  sensibly:  "The  law 
does  not  allow  me  to  judge  you;  everybody  is 
right ;  all  I  can  do  is  to  send  you  my  gladiators 
who  will  kill  you  and  whom  you  will  kill!" 
They  actually  go,  they  kill,  they  are  killed. 
Peace  returns ;  everybody  kisses  and  makes  up 
and  compliments  everybody  else,  and  the  rab- 
bit hunters  congratulate  themselves  upon  their 
skill  in  shooting  an  officer  or  a  soldier.  When 
all  accounts  are  made  up,  nothing  remains  but 
the  simple  subtraction  of  a  few  dead.  But  the 
soldiers  are  not  figured  into  the  reckoning. 
They  do  not  count!  Nobody  worries  much 
about  them!  It  is  understood  that  those  who 
die  in  uniform  have  neither  father,  mother, 
wife  nor  sweetheart  to  be  crushed  and  bathed 
in  tears.    Theirs  is  anonymous  blood. 

Sometimes  (a  frequent  occurrence  nowa- 
days) both  contending  parties  unite  to  over- 
whelm with  hatred  and  malediction  the  unfor- 
tunates sent  out  and  condemned  to  quell  them. 

Therefore,  the  sentiment  which  will  domi- 
nate in  this  book  is  that  which  made  me  be- 
gin it:  The  desire  to  fend  from  the  soldier's 
head  this  malediction  the  citizen  is  often  ready 
to  heap  upon  it,  and  to  call  down  upon  the 

[30] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

"^ 

Army  the  pardon  of  the  Nation.  The  most 
beautiful  thing,  after  inspiration,  is  devotion; 
after  the  poet,  it  is  the  soldier.  It  is  not  the 
soldier's  fault  that  he  is  condemned  to  a  he- 
lot's state. 

The  Army  is  blind  and  dumb.  It  strikes 
where  it  is  put.  It  wills  nothing  and  its  action 
is  started  as  with  a  spring.  It  is  a  big  thing 
that  others  control  and  that  kills.  But  it  is 
a  thing  that  suffers,  too! 

Because  of  that  I  have  always  spoken  of  the 
Army  with  an  involuntary  tenderness.  We  are 
now  living  in  grave  times  when  the  cities  of 
France,  each  in  turn,  become  battlefields  and 
since  some  little  while  we  have  had  much  to 
pardon  to  the  men  that  kill. 

Looking  from  nearby  at  the  life  of  these 
armed  troops,  which  each  succeeding  Power 
will  daily  force  upon  us,  it  will  be  truly  seen 
that  the  soldier's  existence  is  the  saddest  relic 
of  barbarism  subsisting  among  mankind.  I 
have  said  so  and  I  believe  it  is,  next  to  capital 
punishment!  But  it  will  be  seen  also  that  noth- 
ing is  more  worthy  of  the  interest  and  the  love 
of  the  Nation  than  this  sacrificial  family  which 
sometimes  gives  the  Nation  such  wondrous 
glory. 

[31] 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  LIFE   OF  A   SOLDIER   AND    HIS   INDIVIDUAL 
CHARACTER 

Sometimes  the  words  in  our  familiar  speech 
have  a  perfect  exactness  of  meaning.  It  is  in- 
deed "to  serve,"  to  obey  and  to  command  in 
an  Army.  One  may  shudder  at  this  servitude, 
but  its  slaves  must  be  justly  admired.  They 
all  accept  their  fate  with  all  its  consequences 
and,  in  France  particularly,  the  qualities  ex- 
acted by  the  military  state  are  assumed  with 
extreme  alacrity.  All  this  activity  we  possess 
suddenly  vanishes  to  make  room  for  indescrib- 
able dejection  and  dismay. 

The  life  is  dull,  monotonous,  regular.  The 
hours  beaten  by  the  drummer  are  as  muffled 
and  sombre  as  iiimself.  The  gait  and  the  as- 
pect are  uniform  as  is  the  dress.  The  vivacity 
of  youth  and  the  slowness  of  ripe  age  take  the 
same  pace  in  the  end,  and  it  is  the  pace  of  one's 
branch  of  service.     The  branch  in  which  one 

[32] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

serves  is  the  mould  in  which  one  casts  his  char- 
acter, in  which  it  is  changed  and  remoulded 
to  take  a  general  shape  stamped  for  all  time. 
The  man  effaces  himself  beneath  the  soldier. 

Military  thraldom  is  heavy  and  inflexible 
like  the  iron  mask  of  the  nameless  prisoner, 
and  gives  to  each  fighting  man  a  cold  and  uni- 
form look. 

And  so,  by  a  mere  aspect  of  an  army  corps, 
one  becomes  aware  that  tedium  and  discontent 
are  the  general  features  of  the  military  coun- 
tenance. Weariness  adds  its  wrinkles,  the  sun 
its  sallow  complexion  and  encroaching  age 
furrows  faces  but  thirty  years  old.  Neverthe- 
less a  thought  common  to  all  frequently  gives 
to  this  gathering  of  serious  men  a  great,  ma- 
jestic character.  This  thought  is  Abnega- 
tion! 

The  abnegation,  the  effacement  of  self  of 
the  warrior  is  a  cross  heavier  than  that  of  the 
martyr.  It  must  be  borne  a  long  time  to  real- 
ise its  sublimity  as  well  as  its  weight. 

Sacrifice  must  indeed  be  the  finest  thing  on 
earth,  because  there  is  so  much  of  beauty  in 
simple  men  who  frequently  have  no  thought  of 
their  merit  and  the  secret  of  their  life.  It  is 
sacrifice  which,  from  this  life  of  hardship  and 

[33] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

! 

tedium,  causes  to  emerge  as  by  a  miracle  an 
artificial  but  generous  character,  moulded  in 
lines  that  are  big  and  fine  like  those  of  antique 
medals. 

The  complete  Abnegation  of  Self  I  just 
mentioned;  the  continual  and  indifferent 
awaiting  of  death;  the  entire  renunciation  of 
the  freedom  to  think  and  act;  the  tardiness 
imposed  upon  stinted  ambition,  and  the  im- 
possibility of  amassing  wealth  produce  virtues 
which  are  rarer  among  the  free  and  active 
classes. 

Generally  speaking,  the  military  character 
is  simple,  good,  patient ;  something  childHke  is 
to  be  found  in  it,  because  regimental  life  takes 
a  little  after  school  life.  The  traits  of  rough- 
ness and  gloom  which  darken  it  are  stamped 
on  it  by  tedium,  but  particularly  by  the  always 
false  position  regarding  the  Nation  and  by  the 
necessary  comedy  of  authority. 

The  absolute  authority  a  man  exercises  con- 
strains him  to  perpetual  reserve.  He  may 
never  unwrinkle  his  brow  before  his  subordi- 
nates without  letting  them  lapse  into  familiar- 
ities which  would  endanger  his  power.  He 
refrains  from  friendly  grace  and  gossip  lest 
there  be  marked  down  against  him  some  con- 

[34] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

cession  to  the  amenities  of  life,  or  some  weak- 
ness which  might  set  a  bad  example. 

I  have  known  officers  who  shut  themselves 
into  Trappist  silence  and  whose  serious  lips 
never  lifted  their  moustachios  except  to  allow 
a  command  to  pass  between  them.  Under  the 
Empire  such  was  almost  always  the  counte- 
nance of  superior  officers  and  generals.  The 
example  had  been  set  by  the  master,  the  cus- 
tom rigidly  preserved — and  with  reason.  For, 
to  the  necessary  consideration  of  putting  aside 
familiarity,  was  added  the  need  of  their  riper 
experience  to  preserve  their  dignity  in  the 
eyes  of  the  youth,  better  instructed  than  they, 
sent  continually  by  the  military  schools  and 
arriving  bristling  with  figures  and  the  assur- 
ance of  laureates,  whom  silence  alone  could 
keep  bridled. 

I  have  never  cared  for  the  species  of  young 
officers,  not  even  when  I  was  one  of  them  my- 
self. A  secret  instinct  for  the  truth  warned 
me  that  in  all  things  theory  is  nothing  com- 
pared with  practice.  And  the  grave,  silent 
smile  of  the  old  captains  kept  me  on  my  guard 
against  that  poor  science  which  is  learned  in  a 
few  days  of  reading.  In  the  regiments  in  which 
I  served  I  loved  to  listen  to  those  old  officers 

[35] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

whose  bent  shoulders  still  had  the  bearing  of 
the  soldier's  back  loaded  with  a  knapsack  full 
of  clothing  and  a  cartridge  case  full  of  cart- 
ridges. They  told  me  old  tales  of  Egypt,  Italy 
and  Russia,  which  taught  me  more  about  war 
than  the  ordinance  of  1789,  the  service  regula- 
tions and  the  interminable  instructions  start- 
ing with  those  of  the  Great  Frederick  to  his 
generals. 

On  the  contrary,  I  found  something  fas- 
tidious in  the  confident,  empty  and  ignorant 
foppishness  of  the  young  officers  of  that  pe- 
riod; eternal  smokers  and  gamblers,  attentive 
only  to  the  requirements  of  their  behaviour,  ex- 
perts on  the  cut  of  their  coats,  cafe  and  billiard 
room  orators.  Their  conversation  was  no  more 
characteristic  than  that  of  any  commonplace 
youths  of  fashion;  their  banalities  were  only  a 
bit  more  vulgar. 

To  draw  some  profit  from  my  environment 
I  lost  no  opportunity  of  listening.  And  I 
awaited  most  habitually  the  hours  of  the  regu- 
lar promenades,  when  the  old  officers  liked  to 
exchange  their  reminiscences.  As  for  them, 
they  rather  enjoyed  writing  in  my  memory  the 
private  histories  of  their  lives.  Finding  in  me 
a  patience  equal  to  their  own,  and  quite  as 

[36] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

serious  a  silence,  they  showed  themselves  ever 
ready  always  to  open  their  hearts  to  me.  Of 
evenings  we  would  often  walk  in  the  fields  or 
the  woods  around  the  garrison  towns,  or  by 
the  sea,  and  the  general  view  of  nature,  or  the 
shghtest  peculiarity  of  the  ground  would 
waken  their  inexhaustible  memories:  it  would 
be  a  naval  battle,  a  famous  retreat,  a  fatal  am- 
bush, an  infantry  fight,  a  siege — and  always 
there  would  be  regrets  for  the  time  of  danger, 
and  respect  for  the  memory  of  such  and  such 
a  great  general,  a  naive  recognition  of  an  ob- 
scure name  they  thought  illustrious. 

And  with  it  all  would  be  a  simplicity  of 
heart  which  filled  mine  with  a  sort  of  venera- 
tion for  these  manly  characters,  forged  in  con- 
tinuous adversity  and  in  the  doubts  of  a  false 
and  erroneous  situation. 

I  have  the  gift,  a  sad  one  often,  of  a  memory 
which  does  not  alter  with  time.  JSIy  whole  life 
with  all  its  days  is  ever  with  me  like  an  inerad- 
icable picture.  The  features  never  become 
confused.  The  colours  never  dim.  Some  are 
black  and  lose  none  of  their  force  that  afflicts 
me.  There  are  some  flowers,  too,  with  blos- 
soms still  as  fresh  as  on  the  day  they  blew — 
particularly  when  an  involuntary  tear  drops  on 

[37] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

them  from  my  eyes  and  gives  them  a  keener 
brilHance. 

The  most  useless  conversation  of  my  life 
comes  back  to  me  always  on  the  very  instant 
I  call  it  forth  and  I  would  have  too  much  to 
say  if  I  were  to  relate  stories  that  have  no 
merit  save  a  naive  truth.  But  filled  as  I  am 
v/ith  a  friendly  pity  for  the  misery  of  the  Arm- 
ies I  will  pick  from  among  my  memories  those 
that  show  up  to  me  like  decent  enough  cloaks, 
with  forms  worthy  of  covering  a  chosen 
thought  and  of  showing  how  many  conditions 
adverse  to  the  development  of  character  and 
intelligence  spring  from  the  cross  of  servitude 
and  the  benighted  customs  of  the  standing 
Armies. 

Their  crown  is  a  crown  of  thorns  and  among 
its  pricks  none  is  more  painful,  I  believe,  than 
that  of  passive  obedience.  It  will  also  be  the 
first  of  which  I  shall  make  the  sting  felt.  I 
put  it  foremost  because  it  provides  me  with  the 
first  example  of  the  cruel  necessities  of  the 
Army,  in  the  order  of  my  years.  When  I 
hark  back  to  my  earliest  memories,  I  find  in 
my  military  infancy  an  anecdote  which  is  fresh 
in  my  mind,  and  I  will  retell  it  just  as  it  was 
told  me,  without  seeking,  but  also  without 

[38] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

evading,  in  any  of  my  accounts  the  minute 
features  of  military  life  or  character,  which 
both  one  and  the  other  (I  cannot  sufficiently 
reiterate)  are  behind  the  general  spirit  and 
progress  of  the  nation,  and  consequently  are 
always  stamped  with  a  certain  puerility. 


[39] 


BOOK  II 
LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 


BOOK  II:  LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED 
SEAL 

CHAPTER  I 
AN  ENCOUNTER  ON  THE  HIGHWAY  ONE  DAY 

The  high  road  through  Artois  and  Flan- 
ders is  long  and  sad.  It  stretches  out  in  a 
straight  line,  treeless  and  without  ditches, 
through  flat  countryside  which  at  all  times  is 
full  of  a  yellow  mud.  In  the  month  of  March^, 
18155  I  travelled  that  road,  and  I  had  an  en- 
counter which  I  have  not  forgotten  since. 

I  was  alone,  I  was  on  horseback,  I  had  a 
fine  white  cloak,  a  red  suit,  a  black  helmet,  pis- 
tols and  a  big  sabre.  It  had  been  pouring  rain 
for  four  days  and  four  nights  of  our  march, 
and  I  remember  that  I  was  singing  Joconde 
at  the  top  of  my  voice.  I  was^  so  young!  The 
King's  household  in  1814  had  been  made  up 
of  children  and  old  men ;  the  Emperor  seemed 
to  have  taken  and  killed  all  the  others. 

[43] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

My  comrades  were  ahead  on  the  road,  fol- 
lowing King  Louis  XVIII;  I  could  see  their 
white  cloaks  and  red  suits  on  the  edge  of  the 
horizon  to  the  North;  Bonaparte's  lancers,  who 
watched  and  followed  our  retreat  step  by- 
step,  from  time  to  time  showed  the  tricoloured 
flame  of  their  lances  on  the  opposite  horizon. 
A  cast  shoe  had  kept  back  my  horse:  he  was 
young  and  strong;  I  urged  him  on  to  rejoin 
my  squadron ;  he  started  at  a  brisk  trot.  I  put 
my  hand  to  my  belt,  that  was  comfortably 
filled  with  gold.  I  heard  the  steel  scabbard 
of  my  sabre  ring  against  the  stirrup.  And  I 
felt  very  proud  and  perfectly  happy. 

And  still  it  rained,  and  still  I  sang.  Never- 
theless I  soon  stopped,  bored  with  hearing 
only  myself.  And  then  I  heard  nothing  more 
except  the  rain  and  the  feet  of  my  horse  floun- 
dering in  the  ruts.  The  road  was  no  longer 
paved.  I  sank  in,  and  had  to  slow  down  to  a 
walk.  The  outside  of  my  big  boots  was  thickly 
plastered  with  mud  yellow  as  ochre;  inside 
they  were  rapidly  filling  with  rain.  I  looked 
at  my  brand  new  gold  epaulettes  that  were 
my  joy  and  my  consolation.  They  were  all 
roughed  up  by  the  water.  That,  to  me,  was 
an  affliction. 

[44] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

My  horse  hung  his  head.  So  did  I.  I  fell  to 
thinking,  and  for  the  first  time  I  asked  myself 
where  I  was  going.  I  knew  absolutely  nothing 
about  it.    But  that  did  not  trouble  me  long: 
I  was  sure  that  my  squadron  being  there, 
ahead,  there  also  lay  my  duty.    Because  I  felt 
a  profound  and  unalterable  calm  in  my  heart,  I 
gave  thanks  to  this  ineffable  sense  ^f  T)i]ty,  and 
I  tried  to  explain  it  to  myself,  ^laving  seen  at  ^^ 
close  quarters  how  unaccustomed  hardships    \  .^-1 
were  gaily  borne  by  heads  so  flaxen  or  so  white,    I  ,^ 
how  a  secure  future  was  so  scornfully  risked  by    {  i 
so  many  men  of  happy  and  worldly  lives,  and    )  ^ 
taking  my  share  in  the  miraculous  satisfaction 
afforded  every  man  by  the  conviction  that  he 
may  slight  no  debt  of  honour,  I  understood    . 
that  abnegation  is  easier  and  commoner  than    I 
people  think. 

I  asked  myself  if  self-abnegation  were  not 
a  sense  born  in  us ;  what  was  this  need  to  obey 
and  to  place  one's  will  in  other  hands,  like  a 
heavy  and  troublesome  burden;  whence  came 
the  secret  happiness  in  being  rid  of  this  load, 
and  how  it  was  that  human  pride  had  never  re- 
volted against  it.  I  clearly  saw  this  mysteri- 
ous instinct  everywhere  binding  peoples  into 
powerful  groups.  But  I  saw  nowhere  so  com- 

[45] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

pletely  and  redoubtably  as  in  the  Army  this 
renunciation  of  actions,  words,  desires  and  al- 
most of  thoughts.  Everywhere  I  observed  the 
usual  possible  resistance,  the  citizen  showing 
in  every  instance  a  clear-sighted  and  intelli- 
gent obedience  which  inquires  and  may  stop 
short.  I  even  saw  woman's  tender  submission 
cease  where  evil  begins  to  be  imposed  upon 
her,  and  the  law  take  her  defence.  But  mili- 
tary  obedience,  passive  and  acHve  at  one  and 
the  same  time,  receiving  orders  and  executing 
them,  strikes  blindly,  as  Destiny  of  old!  I 
traced  the  possible  consequences  of  this  ab- 
negation of  the  soldier,  without  recourse,  with- 
out condition,  and  sometimes  leading  to  sinister 
tasks. 

Such  were  my  thoughts  as  I  went  along  at 
the  pleasure  of  my  horse,  knowing  the  hour  by 
my  watch  and  seeing  the  road  ever  stretch- 
ing out  its  straight  line,  without  a  tree,  with- 
out a  house,  cutting  the  plain  to  the  horizon, 
like  a  great  yellow  stripe  on  a  grey  cloth. 
There  were  times  when  the  liquid  stripe  would 
run  over  into  the  liquid  ground  surrounding  it. 
■  And  when  the  light,  growing  a  little  less  pale, 
would  illuminate  this  sad  expanse  of  country, 

[46] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 


I  could  see  myself  amid  a  miry  sea,  following 


a  stream  of  slime  and  plaster.  ^  '     i^ 

While  closely  examining  this  yellow  stripe 
of  road,  I  noticed  on  it,  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away,  a  little  black  dot  that  was  moving. 
I  was  delighted;  it  was  somebody.    I  did  not 
take  my  eyes  from  it.     I  saw  that  this  black 
dot  was  headed,  like  myself,  in  the  direction  of 
Lille,  and  that  it  was  zigzagging,  which  indi- 
cated difficult  going.   I  hastened  my  pace  and 
I  gained  ground  on  this  object,  which  length- 
ened a  bit  and  grew  to  my  sight.  X  startedN 
again  to  trot  on  more  solid  soil  and  1  thought  / 
I  recognised  a  sort  of  small  black  carriage,  if 
was  hungry.     I  hoped  it  might  be  a  canteen  ) 
wagon  and  considering  my  poor  horse  a  sloop,  ■  ' ' 
I  made  it  stir  its  oars  to  reach  the  blessed  isle 
in  this  sea  into  which  we  sometimes  sunk  belly- ' 
deep. 

A  hundred  paces  further,  I  clearly  distin- 
guished a  little  cart  of  white  wood  covered  with 
three  hoops  and  a  black  oilcloth.  It  resem- 
bled a  little  cradle  hung  on  two  wheels.  The 
wheels  sank  in  the  mud  to  the  hubs.  A  small 
mule  which  pulled  it  was  led  with  difficulty  by 
a  man  on  foot  who  held  the  bridle.  I  ap- 
proached him  and  considered  him  attentively. 


^^ 


(, 
MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

He  was  a  man  of  about  fifty  with  white 
whiskers,  strong  and  tall,  a  bit  round  shoul- 
dered after  the  manner  of  old  infantry  officers 
who  have  carried  the  knapsack.  He  wore  their 
uniform,  and  the  shoulderstrap  of  a  battalion 
chief  might  be  seen  under  a  little,  worn,  short, 
blue  cloak.  His  face  was  hardened,  but  good, 
the  kind  of  which  there  are  so  many  in  the 
Army.  He  looked  at  me  sidelong  under  his 
heavy  black  eyebrows,  and  from  his  cart  he 
quickly  pulled  a  rifle  which  he  cocked  while 
passing  to  the  other  side  of  his  mule,  thus  mak- 
ing a  rampart  for  himself.  Having  seen  his 
white  cockade,  I  contented  myself  with  showing 
the  sleeve  of  my  red  suit,  and  he  put  his  gun 
back  in  the  cart  saying: 

"Ah!  that's  different,  I  took  you  for  one  of 
those  ruffians  who  are  running  us  down.  Would 
you  like  to  have  a  drop?" 

"Gladly,"  I  said,  coming  closer;  "I  have  not 
had  a  drink  for  forty-eight  hours." 

Around  his  neck  he  carried  a  cocoanut,  very 
well  carved,  arranged  like  a  flask,  with  a  silver 
neck  and  of  which  he  seemed  to  be  proud.  He 
passed  it  on  to  me  and  I  drank  from  it  a  little 
bad  white  wine  with  much  good  pleasure.  I 
handed  him  back  his  flask. 

[48] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

"The  health  of  the  King,"  he  said,  drinking; 
"he  made  me  an  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Hon- 
our. It  is  therefore  right  that  I  should  follow 
him  to  the  frontier.  But  alas !  as  I  have  noth- 
ing but  my  shoulderstraps  for  a  living,  I  shall 
take  back  my  regiment  afterwards.  It's  my 
duty." 

Speaking  thus,  and  as  if  to  himself,  he  start- 
ed his  little  mule,  while  murmuring  we  had  no 
time  to  lose.  And  being  of  the  same  mind,  I 
continued  my  way  a  few  paces  from  him.  All 
the  time  I  looked  at  him  without  questioning, 
for  I  never  have  liked  the  gossipy  indiscretion 
quite  customary  among  us. 

For  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  we  went  on 
without  a  word.  As  he  stopped  then  to  rest 
his  poor  little  mule  which  it  hurt  me  to  look 
at,  I  too  stopped  and  tried  to  squeeze  out  the 
water  that  filled  my  riding  boots  like  two  tubs 
in  which  my  legs  would  be  soaked. 

"Your  boots  are  beginning  to  stick  to  your 
feet,"  he  said. 

"I  have  not  had  them  off  for  four  nights," 
said  I  to  him. 

"Bah,  in  a  week  you'll  not  think  of  it  any 
more,"  he  returned  in  his  hoarse  voice;  "it's 
something  to  be  alone,  now,  in  such  times  as  we 
[49] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

are  living  in.    Do  you  know  what  I  have  in 
there?" 

"No,"  I  told  him. 

"It's  a  woman."  ^ 

I  said,  "Ah!"  without  much  astonishment 
and  slowly  continued  my  way.  He  followed 
me. 

"That  miserable  barrow  did  not  cost  much," 
he  continued,  "nor  the  mule  either.  But  it's  all 
I  need,  though  this  road  is  a  bit  longer  than 
the  ordinary  wig  ribbon." 

I  offered  to  let  him  mount  my  horse  when 
he  should  feel  tired.  And  as  I  did  not  speak 
other  than  seriously  and  simply  of  his  carriage, 
which  he  knew  was  grotesque,  he  suddenly 
felt  more  at  ease  and,  coming  close  to  my  stir- 
rup, he  tapped  me  on  the  knee,  saying: 

"Oh  well,  you're  a  good  boy,  even  though 
you  do  belong  to  the  Reds." 

I  felt,  from  the  bitter  tone  in  which  he  thus 
designated  the  four  Red  Companies,  how  much 
hateful  prejudice  the  luxury  and  the  rank  of 
this  corps  of  officers  had  caused  in  the  Army. 

"However,"  he  added,  "I  won't  accept  your 
offer,  seeing  that  I  don't  know  how  to  ride  a 
horse  as  that  is  not  in  my  line  of  business." 

[50] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

"But,  Major,  the  superior  officers  like 
yourself  are  obliged  to  ride." 

"Bah,  once  a  year,  at  inspection,  and  then 
on  a  hired  horse.  I  have  always  been  a  marine, 
and  a  footsoldier  since.  I  don't  know  how  to 
ride  horseback." 

He  went  ahead  twenty  paces,  looking  at  me 
sideways  now  and  then,  as  if  awaiting  a  ques- 
tion.  And  as  not  k  word  came,  he  continued: 

"You're  not  a  bit  curious,  are  you?  What 
I  am  telling  yoii  there  should  astound  you!" 

"I'm  not  easily  astonished,"  said  I. 

"Oh!  nevertheless,  if  I  told  you  how  I  quit 
the  sea,  we'd  see  whether  you  would  be  or  not." 

"Well,"  I  rejoined,  "why  don't  you  try?  It 
will  warm  you  up,  arid  it  will  make  me  forget 
that  the  rain  is  coming  in  at  the  back  of  my 
neck  and  does  not  stop  till  it  reaches  my  heels." 

The  good  battalion  chief  solemnly  made 
ready  for  speech,  with  all  the  pleasure  of  a 
child.  He  readjusted  the  black  oilcloth- 
covered  shako  on  his  head,  and  he  gave  that 
shrug  of  the  shoulder  no  one  can  produce  that 
has  not  served  in  the  infantry;  that  shoulder- 
shrug  the  footsoldier  gives  to  his  knapsack  to 
raise  it  and  to  ease  its  burden  for  a  moment. 
It  is  a  soldier's  habit  which,  when  he  becomes 

[51] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

'■1   ^^ 

an  officer,  becomes  a  twitch.  After  this  con- 
vulsive gesture,  he  drank  another  sip  of  wine 
from  his  cocoanut,  gave  his  mule  a  kick  in  the 
rump  for  encouragement,  and  began. 


[52] 


CHAPTER  n 
HISTOEY   OF   THE   KED    SEAT. 

FiEST  you  shall  know,  my  boy,  that  I  was 
born  at  Brest.  I  began  by  being  a  troop-child, 
earning  my  half -ration  and  my  half-pay  from 
the  age  of  nine.  My  father  was  a  soldier  of  the 
Guards.  But  I  loved  the  sea.  So  one  fine 
night  while  on  leave  at  Brest  I  stowed  away 
in  the  hold  of  a  merchantman  bound  for  India. 
I  was  not  discovered  till  out  at  sea,  and  the 
captain  preferred  making  me  cabin-boy  to 
throwing  me  overboard.  When  the  Revolu- 
tion came  I  had  made  headway.  Having 
scoured  the  seas  for  fifteen  years,  I  had,  in 
my  turn,  become  the  captain  of  a  small  mer- 
chantman, quite  a  tidy  one. 

When  the  Royal  Ex-Navy — ^good  old  Navy, 
upon  my  word — suddenly  found  itself  with- 
out ofiicers,  captains  were  taken  from  the  mer- 
chant marine.  I  had  been  through  a  few  fili- 
buster affairs — of  which  I  might  tell  you  later 

[53] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

— and  I  was  given  command  of  a  war-brig 
called  the  Marat, 

On  the  28th  of  Fructidor,  1797,  I  received 
orders  to  get  under  sail  for  Cayenne.  I  was 
to  take  out  sixty  soldiers  and  one  convict  left 
over  from  the  one  hundred  and  ninety-three 
the  frigate  JLa  Decade  had  taken  aboard  a 
few  days  previous.  My  orders  were  to  treat 
this  individual  with  consideration  and  the  first 
letter  from  the  Directoire  enclosed  a  second 
sealed  with  three  red  seals,  in  the  centre  of 
which  was  one  huge  one.  I  was  forbidden  to 
open  this  letter  before  the  first  degree  latitude 
North,  from  27  degrees  to  28  degrees  longi- 
tude, that  is  to  say,  close  to  the  line. 

This  big  letter  had  a  most  particular  look. 
It  was  long  and  so  tightly  closed  that  I  could 
read  nothing  under  the  corners  nor  through 
the  envelope.  I  am  not  superstitious,  but  it 
scared  me,  that  letter  did.  I  put  it  in  my 
cabin,  under  the  glass  of  a  bad  little  English 
clock  nailed  over  my  bed.  That  bed  was  a 
regular  seaman's  bed,  the  way  you  know  they 
are.  But  what  am  I  saying  to  you:  you're 
barely  sixteen,  you  can't  have  seen  anything 
like  that. 

A  queen's  chamber  cannot  be  more  neatly 
[54] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THg  RED  SEAL 

i         _i 

arranged  than  a  mariner's,  and  that's  said 
without  wanting  to  brag.  Everything  has  its 
httle  place  and  its  httle  nail.  Nothing  rattles 
around.  The  vessel  may  roll  all  it  pleases  with- 
out disarranging  a  thing.  The  furniture  is 
made  according  to  the  shape  of  the  vessel  and 
the  little  room  it's  in.  My  bed  was  a  chest. 
When  opened  I  lay  in  it.  When  closed  it  was 
my  sofa  and  I  smoked  my  pipe  on  it.  Some- 
times it  was  my  table  and  then  you'd  have  to 
sit  at  it  on  little  kegs  that  were  in  the  room. 
My  floor  was  waxed  and  polished  like  mahog- 
any, and  shone  like  a  gem:  a  regular  mirror! 
Oh!  it  was  a  fine  little  room!  And  my  brig 
was  worth  while  too.  Often  we'd  amuse  our- 
selves in  proper  style,  and  the  voyage  began 

pleasant  enough  this  trip,  if  it  were  not 

But  let  us  not  anticipate. 

We  had  a  fine  North-northwest  wind  and  I 
was  busy  putting  that  letter  under  the  glass 
of  my  clock  when  my  convict  entered  my  room. 
He  held  by  the  hand  a  pretty  little  girl  of 
about  seventeen.  He  was  only  nineteen,  he 
told  me;  a  handsome  fellow,  though  a  little 
pale  and  too  white  for  a  man.  But  he  was  a 
man  just  the  same,  and  a  man  who  behaved, 
when  the  time  came,  better  than  many  old  men 

[55] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

might  have  done:  you  shall  see.  He  held  his 
little  wife  by  the  arm.  She  was  fresh  and  bright 
as  a  child.  They  looked  like  two  turtledoves. 
I  liked  to  see  them,  I  did.   I  said  to  them : 

— "Well,  children!  you  have  come  to  visit 
with  the  old  captain ;  that's  nice  of  you.  I  am 
taking  you  pretty  far ;  but  so  much  the  better, 
we'll  have  time  to  get  acquainted.  I  don't  like 
receiving  Madame  without  my  coat  on;  but 
it's  only  because  I  am  nailing  this  big  rascal  of 
a  letter  up  there.  Would  you  like  to  help  me  a 
little?" 

They  were  really  good  children.  The  little 
husband  took  the  hammer,  and  the  little  wife 
the  nails  and  they  passed  them  to  me  as  I 
asked  them.  And  she  would  say  to  me :  "To 
the  right,  to  the  left!  Captain!"  laughing  all 
the  time,  because  the  pitching  made  my  clock 
toss  about.  I  can  still  hear  her,  with  her  little 
voice:  "To  the  right!  to  the  left!  Captain!"  She 
was  making  fun  of  me.  — "Ah!"  I  said,  "you 
naughty  child,  I  shall  have  your  husband 
scold  you."  Then  she  threw  her  arms  around 
his  neck  and  kissed  him.  They  were  really 
charming,  and  so  we  got  acquainted.  We  were 
good  friends  at  once. 

We  had  a  fine  passage  too.  I  always  had 
[56] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

weather  made  to  order.  As  I  had  never  had 
any  but  black  faces  on  board  my  ship,  I  had 
the  two  lovers  come  to  my  table  every  day. 
That  livened  me  up.  When  we  had  eaten  our 
biscuit  and  fish,  the  little  wife  and  her  husband 
would  sit  looking  at  one  another  as  if  they  had 
never  seen  each  other  before.  Then  I  would 
burst  out  laughing  heartily  and  make  fun  of 
them.  They  laughed  with  me,  too.  It  would 
have  made  you  laugh  to  see  us  like  three  im- 
beciles that  did  not  know  what  was  the  mat- 
ter with  us.  It  was  because  it  was  truly  won- 
derful to  see  them  love  each  other  like  that! 
They  were  at  ease  everywhere.  Whatever  was 
put  before  them  they  thought  all  right.  Yet 
they  were  on  rations  like  the  rest  of  us.  I  only 
added  a  bit  of  Swedish  brandy  when  they  dined 
with  me,  just  a  little  glass  to  keep  up  my  rank. 
They  slept  in  a  hammock,  where  the  vessel 
rolled  them  like  those  two  pears  I  have  here 
in  my  wet  kerchief.  They  were  lively  and 
content.  I  did  as  you  do,  I  asked  no  questions. 
What  business  had  I  to  know  their  names  and 
their  affairs — I,  a  water  rat?  I  carried  them  to 
the  other  side  of  the  ocean,  as  I  would  have 
carried  two  birds  of  paradise. 

At  the  end  of  a  month  I  regarded  them  as 
[57] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

^my  children.  Every  day,  when  I  called  them, 
they  would  come  and  sit  near  me.  The  young 
man  wrote  on  my  table,  that  is  to  say,  my  bed. 
And  if  I  cared  to,  he  would  help  me  make  my 
day's  reckoning:  very  soon  he  knew  how  as 
well  as  I.  Sometimes  he  amazed  me.  The 
young  wife  would  sit  herself  down  on  a  little 
keg  and  start  sewing. 

One  day  when  they  were  sitting  like  that,  I 
told  them : 

— "Do  you  know,  little  friends,  that  we  make 
a  family  picture  the  way  we  are  here  ?  I  don't 
want  to  quiz  you,  but  probably  you  have  no 
more  money  than  you  need  and  you  are  both 
pretty  delicate  for  spading  and  digging  the 
way  Cayenne  convicts  do.  It  is  villainous 
country,  that  I  can  tell  you  with  all  my  heart. 
But  an  old  sun-dried  wolf -hide  like  me,  could 
live  there  like  a  lord.  If  you  feel,  as  I  think 
you  do  (without  wishing  to  quiz  you) ,  more  or 
less  friendly  towards  me,  I  would  quit  my  old 
brig  gladly  enough.  It  is  only  an  old  tub  now, 
and  if  you  would  like,  I  would  settle  there  with 
you.  I  have  no  more  relatives  than  a  dog,  and 
I  am  tired  of  being  alone.  You  would  make  a 
little  company  for  me.  I  could  help  you  in 
many  ways.    And  I  have  gathered  a  nice  little 

[58] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

lot  of  contraband  honestly  enough.  We  would 
live  on  that  and  I  would  leave  it  to  you  when  I 
turn  up  my  toes,  as  we  put  it  politely." 

They  kept  staring  at  each  other,  all  amaze- 
ment, looking  as  if  they  could  not  believe  that 
I  was  speaking  seriously.  And  the  little  one 
ran,  the  way  she  always  did,  to  put  her  arms 
around  her  husband's  neck,  and  sat  on  his  lap 
all  red  and  tearful.  He  squeezed  her  tight  in 
his  arms,  and  I  saw  tears  in  his  eyes,  too.  He 
gave  me  his  hand  and  grew  paler  than  usual. 
She  whispered  to  him,  and  her  long  blonde  hair 
fell  loose  all  over  his  shoulder.  Her  chignon 
had  become  undone  like  a  cable  suddenly  un- 
twisting, because  she  was  as  lively  as  a  fish.  If 
you  had  seen  that  hair !  It  was  like  gold.  When 
they  continued  whispering,  the  young  man 
kissing  her  forehead  from  time  to  time,  and 
she  crying,  I  grew  impatient. 

— "Well,  does  that  suit  you  ?"  I  said  to  them 
at  last. 

— "But  .  .  .  but.  Captain,  you  are  very 
kind,"  said  the  husband.  "But  it  is  .  .  .  You 
can't  live  with  convicts,  and  ..."  He  low- 
ered his  eyes. 

— "I  don't  know  what  you  have  done  to  be  a 
convict,  but  you  will  tell  it  to  me  some  day,  or 

[59] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

not  at  all,  if  you  please.  You  don't  look  to  me 
as  if  you  had  a  very  heavy  conscience  and  I 
am  very  sure  that  I  have  done  a  great  deal  more 
than  you  in  my  life,  you  poor  innocents.  Just 
the  same,  as  long  as  you  are  under  my  guard 
I  won't  let  you  loose,  and  you  must  not  expect 
it.  I'd  rather  cut  off  your  necks  like  a  brace 
of  pigeons.  But  once  my  shoulderstraps  are 
laid  aside,  I  no  longer  know  admiral  nor  any- 
thing." 

— "But,"  he  resumed,  sadly  shaking  his 
brown  head  which  was  a  little  powdered  this 
way  it  was  still  being  done  at  that  time.  — "But 
I  believe  it  would  be  dangerous  for  you,  Cap- 
tain, to  seem  to  know  us.  We  laugh  because 
we  are  young.  We  look  happy  because  we 
love  each  other.  But  I  have  villainous  moments 
when  I  think  of  the  future,  and  I  don't  know 
what  will  become  of  my  poor  Laure." 

Again  he  pressed  the  young  woman's  head 
against  his  breast : 

— "That  is  what  I  had  to  say  to  the  Captain; 
is  it  not  the  same  thing  you  would  have  said, 
child?" 

I  took  my  pipe  and  got  up,  because  I  began 
to  feel  my  eyes  getting  a  little  wet.  And  I 
don't  like  that  to  happen. 

[60] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

— "Come!  come!"  I  said,  "all  that  will  clear 
up  presently.  If  the  tobacco  bothers  Madame, 
her  absence  is  necessary." 

She  rose,  her  face  afire  and  all  moist  with 
tears,  like  a  child  that  has  been  scolded. 

— "After  all,"  she  said,  looking  at  my  clock, 
"you  people  never  give  it  a  thought — ^how 
about  that  letter?" 

I  sensed  something  that  made  an  impression 
on  me.  I  felt  something  like  a  pain  in  my  hair 
when  she  told  me  that. 

— "Good  Lord!  Most  certainly,  I  had  not 
given  it  a  thought."  Ah!  my  word,  here  was  a 
nice  to  do;  if  we  had  passed  the  first  degree 
North  latitude  nothing  would  have  been  left 
for  me  but  jump  overboard.  How  happy  I 
must  have  been  to  let  this  child  remind  me  of 
the  big  rascal  of  a  letter ! 

I  quickly  looked  at  my  sea  chart  and  when 
I  saw  we  still  had  a  week  at  least  to  go,  my 
mind  was  at  ease.  But  not  my  heart,  and  I 
did  not  know  why. 

— "The  Direct oire  does  not  trifle  in  the  mat- 
ter of  obedience!"  I  said.  "Well,  I  am  still  in 
the  running.  Time  has  flown  so  swiftly  that 
I  had  completely  forgotten  that." 

Well,  sir,  we  remained  all  three  noses  in 
[61] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

the  air  looking  at  that  letter  as  if  it  were  going 
to  speak  to  us.  What  struck  me  particularh/ 
was  that  the  sun,  slanting  through  the  skylight, 
lit  up  the  glass  of  the  clock  and  made  the  big 
red  seal,  and  the  other  little  ones,  appear  like 
the  features  of  a  face  in  the  midst  of  a  fire. 

— "Would  not  you  say  that  its  eyes  are  pop- 
ping out  of  its  head?"  I  said  to  them  to  amuse 
them. 

— "Oh!  my  friend,"  said  the  young  woman, 
"they  resemble  spots  of  blood." 

— "Bah!  Bah!"  said  her  husband,  taking  her 
by  the  arm.  "You  are  wrong,  Laure.  It  looks 
like  a  wedding  invitation.  Come  and  rest  a  bit, 
come.    Why  does  this  letter  trouble  you?" 

They  ran  off  as  if  a  ghost  were  pursuing 
them  and  climbed  on  the  bridge.  I  remained 
alone  with  that  big  letter.  And  I  remember 
that  I  kept  looking  at  it,  smoking  my  pipe,  as 
if  its  red  eyes  had  fastened  on  mine,  drawing 
them  the  way  a  serpent's  eyes  do.  Its  big 
white  face,  its  third  seal,  bigger  than  the  eyes, 
wide  open,  yawning  like  a  wolf's  mouth  .  .  . 
all  that  put  me  in  a  bad  temper.  I  snatched 
my  coat  and  hung  it  over  the  clock,  to  see 
neither  the  time  nor  the  dog  of  a  letter  any 
more. 

[62] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

I  went  to  finish  my  pipe  on  the  bridge. 
There  I  stayed  till  night. 

We  were  then  as  far  as  the  Cape  Verde  Is- 
lands. The  Marat  ran,  before  the  wind,  her 
ten  knots  without  trouble.  The  night  was  the 
most  beautiful  I  have  seen  in  all  my  life  near 
the  tropics.  The  moon  rose  on  the  horizon, 
large  as  a  sun.  The  sea  cut  her  in  two  and 
becamxC  all  white  like  a  sheet  of  snow  covered 
with  tiny  diamonds.  I  gazed  at  the  whole 
scene,  smoking,  seated  on  my  bench.  The  of- 
ficer on  duty  and  the  sailors  said  nothing  and 
watched,  like  myself,  the  shadow  of  the  brig 
on  the  water.  I  was  content  to  hear  nothing. 
I  love  silence  and  order,  I  do.  I  had  forbidden 
all  noises  and  all  lights.  Nevertheless,  I 
caught  sight  of  a  small  red  line  almost  beneath 
my  feet.  I  might  well  have  flown  into  a  rage 
about  that  right  away.  But  as  it  was  my  lit- 
tle convicts,  I  wanted  to  make  sure  what  they 
were  doing  before  getting  angry.  All  I  had  to 
do  was  to  bend  down  and  I  could  see,  through 
the  big  hatch,  into  their  little  room.  And  I 
looked. 

The  young  wife  was  on  her  knees  saying 
her  prayers.  There  was  a  little  lamp  shining 
on  her.  She  was  in  her  nightrobe.    I  could  see, 

[68] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

from  above,  her  bare  snoulders,  her  little  naked 
feet,  and  her  long  blond  hair  all  dishevelled. 
I  thought  of  drawing  back,  but  I  said  to  my- 
self:— Bah!  an  old  soldier,  what  does  it  mat- 
ter?   And  I  kept  looking. 

Her  husband  was  sitting  on  a  little  trunk, 
his  head  on  his  hands,  and  watched  her  praying. 
She  lifted  her  head  as  if  to  Heaven  and  I  saw 
her  big  blue  eyes  were  moist  like  a  Madeleine's. 
While  she  prayed  he  took  the  ends  of  her  long 
hair  and  kissed  them  without  making  a  noise. 
When  she  was  finished  she  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross  and  smiled  with  a  look  as  though 
entering  Paradise.  I  saw  that  he,  like  her, 
made  a  sign  of  the  cross,  but  as  if  he  were 
ashamed  of  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  a 
strange  thing  for  a  man  to  do. 

She  stood  upright,  embraced  him,  and 
stretched  out  first  in  the  hammock,  in  which 
he  laid  her  without  a  word,  the  way  a  child  is 
laid  into  a  swinging  cradle.  It  was  suffocat- 
ingly hot.  She  felt  herself  pleasantly  rocked 
by  the  motion  of  the  vessel  and  seemed  already 
to  be  falling  asleep.  Her  little  white  feet  were 
crossed  and  raised  on  a  level  with  her  head  and 
all  her  body  was  wrapped  in  her  long  white 
gown.    She  was  very  lovely. 

[64] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

— "My  dear,"  she  said  drowsily,  "aren't  you 
sleepy?    It  is  very  late,  you  know." 

He  remained,  his  head  buried  in  his  hands, 
without  answering.  That  troubled  her  a  bit, 
good  little  thing,  and  she  stuck  her  pretty 
head  outside  the  hammock,  like  a  bird  out  of 
its  nest,  and  looked  at  him  with  half  open 
mouth,  not  daring  to  say  more. 

Finally  he  said  to  her: 

— "My  dear  Laure,  the  closer  we  come  to 
America,  the  less  can  I  help  becoming  sad.  I 
don't  know  why.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  hap- 
piest time  of  our  life  shall  have  been  the  time 
of  this  crossing." 

— "So  it  seems  to  me,"  she  said.  "I  would 
like  never  to  arrive  at  all." 

He  looked  at  her  clenching  his  hands  with 
a  rapture  you  cannot  imagine. 

— "And  yet,  my  angel,  you  always  weep 
when  you  pray  to  God,"  he  said.  "That  grieves 
me  a  great  deal,  for  well  I  know  of  whom  you 
are  thinking,  and  I  fancy  you  regret  what  you 
have  done." 

— "I?  Regret?"  she  said  with  a  pained  look. 
"I  regret  having  followed  you,  dear  I  Do  you 
believe  that  for  having  belonged  to  you  so  lit- 
tle, I  have  loved  you  less  ?    Is  one  not  a  woman, 

[65] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

does  one  not  know  her  duties  at  seventeen? 
Did  not  my  mother  and  my  sisters  say  it  was 
my  duty  to  follow  you  to  Guyana?  Did  they 
not  say  that  there  was  nothing  surprising  in 
that?  I  only  wonder  that  you  have  been 
touched  by  it,  dear;  it  is  all  so  natural.  And 
now  I  don't  know  how  you  can  believe  that  I 
regret  a  thing,  when  I  am  with  you  to  help  you 
live,  or  to  die  with  you  when  you  die." 

All  this  she  said  in  a  voice  so  sweet  that  you 
would  have  believed  it  was  music.  I  was  great- 
ly moved  by  it,  and  I  said  to  myself; 

— "You  fine  little  woman!" 

The  young  man  fell  to  sighing  and  tapping 
with  his  foot  while  kissing  the  beautiful  hand 
and  the  bare  arm  she  stretched  out  to  him. 

— "Oh!  Laurette,  my  Laurette!"  he  said, 
"when  I  think  that,  had  we  delayed  our  wed- 
ding four  days,  I  would  have  been  arrested 
alone  and  would  have  left  all  alone,  I  cannot 
forgive  myself." 

Then  the  little  beauty  leaned  out  of  the 
hammock,  both  her  pretty  white  arms  bare  to 
the  shoulder,  and  caressed  his  forehead,  his 
hair  and  his  eyes,  enfolding  his  head  as  if  to 
take  it  and  hide  it  in  her  breast.  She  smiled 
like  a  child,  and  crooned  a  lot  of  little  woman 

[66] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

talk  to  him,  the  like  of  which  I  had  never  heard. 
She  closed  his  mouth  with  her  fingers  in  order 
to  speak  alone.  Cuddling  him  and  taking  her 
long  hair  for  a  kerchief  to  wipe  his  eyes,  she 
said: 

— "Isn't  it  much  better  to  have  a  woman 
with  you  who  loves  you,  dear?  I  am  very  glad 
to  go  to  Cayenne.  I  will  see  savages,  and  co- 
coanut  trees  like  those  of  'Paul  and  Virginia,' 
won't  I?  We  will  each  plant  our  own.  We  will 
see  who  is  the  better  gardener.  We  will  build 
us  a  tiny  house  for  two.  I  shall  work  all  day 
and  all  night,  if  you  want  me  to.  I  am  strong. 
Look,  see  my  arms;  look,  I  could  almost  lift 
you.  Don't  make  fun  of  me.  I  can  embroider 
very  well,  besides.  And  is  there  not  a  town 
somewhere  there  where  embroiderers  are  need- 
ed? I  will  give  drawing  and  music  lessons 
too,  if  people  want  them.  And  if  people  can 
read  there,  you  will  write." 

I  recall  that  the  poor  boy  was  so  desperate 
that  he  cried  out  loud  when  she  said  that. 

—"Write!"  he  cried.     "Write!" 

And  he  clutched  his  right  hand  with  the  left 
one,  squeezing  it  at  the  wrist. 

— "Ah!  write!  why  have  I  ever  been  able  to 
write!  Writing!  why,  it's  a  fool's  job!  ...  I 

[67] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

believed  in  their  liberty  of  the  press!  Where 
was  my  mind?  And  why?  Just  to  print  five 
or  six  poor,  mediocre  enough  ideas,  read  only 
by  those  who  care  for  them,  flung  into  the  fire 
by  those  who  hate  them,  and  no  good  except 
to  have  us  persecuted!  Personally  it  matters 
little !  But  you,  beautiful  angel,  become  a  wo- 
man barely  four  days  before!  What  had  you 
done?  Explain  to  me,  I  beg  of  you,  how  I 
have  permitted  you  to  be  good  to  the  extent 
of  following  me  here?  Do  you  even  know 
where  you  are,  poor  little  thing?  And  where 
you  are  going,  do  you  know?  Very  soon,  dear 
child,  you  will  be  thousands  of  miles  away  from 
your  mother  and  your  sisters  .  .  .  and  for 
me!    All  for  me!" 

She  hid  her  face  in  the  hammock  for  a  mo- 
ment. And  I,  from  above,  I  could  see  that 
she  was  crying.  But  he  down  below  did  not 
see  her  face.  And  when  she  peeped  out  of  the 
cloth,  it  was  smilingly,  to  give  him  cheer. 

— "True,  we  are  not  rich  right  now,"  she 
said,  bursting  out  laughing.  "Look,  my  purse, 
I  have  only  a  single  louis  left.  And  you?" 

He,  too,  began  to  laugh  like  a  child : — "My 
word,  I  had  a  crown  left,  but  I  gave  it  to  the 
little  boy  who  carried  your  trunk." 

[68] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

— "Ah,  bah!  What  does  it  matter?"  she  said, 
snapping  her  little  white  fingers  like  casta- 
nets ;  "people  are  never  gayer  than  when  they 
have  nothing.  And  have  I  not  in  reserve  two 
diamond  rings  my  mother  gave  me  ?  Those  are 
good  anywhere  you  wish.  Moreover,  I  believe 
that  good  captain  fellow  does  not  just  talk  of 
his  good  intentions  towards  us,  and  that  he 
knows  very  well  what  is  in  the  letter.  It  is 
sure  to  be  a  recommendation  for  us  to  the 
Governor  of  Cayenne." 

— "Perhaps,"  he  answered;  "who  knows?" 

— "Surely  it  is,"  cried  his  little  wife;  "you 
are  so  good  that  I  am  sure  the  Government  has 
exiled  you  for  a  little  while,  but  holds  nothing 
against  you." 

She  had  said  that  so  well!  calling  me  that 
good  captain  fellow,  that  I  was  completely 
moved  and  softened  by  it.  And  in  my  heart, 
I  even  rejoiced  over  what  she  had  perhaps 
rightly  guessed  about  the  sealed  letter.  They 
began  to  embrace  each  other  again.  I  stamped 
my  foot  impatiently  on  the  deck  to  make  them 
stop. 

I  shouted  at  them : 

— "Here!  look  you,  my  young  friends,  or- 
[69] 


'f 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

ders  are  to  put  out  all  lights  on  the  ship.    Blow 
out  your  lamp,  if  you  please." 

They  blew  out  the  lamp,  and  I  heard  them 
laugh  and  chatter  very  softly  in  the  shadows 
like  school  children.  I  resumed  my  walking 
alone  on  my  deck,  smoking  my  pipe.  All  the 
stars  of  the  tropics  were  at  their  posts,  big  as 
little  moons.  I  gazed  at  them  breathing  the 
air  which  smelled  fresh  and  good. 

I  kept  telling  myself  that  those  good  little 
ones  surely  had  guessed  the  truth,  and  I  was 
all  cheered  up  about  it.  It  was  safe  to  bet  that 
one  of  the  five  Directeurs  had  thought  bet- 
ter of  it  and  recommended  them  to  me.  I  did 
not  exactly  explain  to  myself  why,  because 
there  are  affairs  of  State  that  I  have  never 
understood.  But  anyway  that  was  what  I  be- 
lieved, and  without  knowing  why,  I  was  con- 
tent. 

I  descended  to  my  cabin  and  went  to  look 
at  the  letter  under  my  old  uniform.  It  had 
another  face.  It  seemed  to  me  it  was  laughing 
and  its  seals  appeared  rose-coloured.  I  no 
longer  doubted  its  good-will  and  I  made  a  little 
sign  of  friendship  at  it. 

Nevertheless,  I  replaced  my  uniform  coat 
over  it.    It  annoyed  me. 

[70] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

We  forgot  to  look  at  it  for  several  days,  and 
we  were  gay.  But  when  we  neared  the  first 
degree  latitude,  we  began  to  stop  talking. 

One  fine  morning  I  woke  quite  astonished 
at  feeling  no  motion  of  the  ship  at  all.  I  really 
never  sleep  except  with  one  eye,  as  the  saying 
goes,  and  as  the  rolling  could  not  be  felt,  I 
opened  both  eyes.  We  had  struck  a  dead  calm, 
and  it  was  under  the  first  degree  North  lati- 
tude and  at  27  degrees  longitude.  I  stuck  my 
nose  out  on  the  bridge.  The  sea  was  smooth 
as  a  bowl  of  oil.  All  the  spread  sails  fell  glued 
to  the  masts  like  collapsed  balloons.  I  said 
right  away: — I  will  have  time  to  read  you  all 
right,  looking  across  in  the  direction  of  the  let- 
ter. I  waited  till  evening,  at  sundown.  Yet 
I  had  to  come  to  it.  I  opened  the  clock  and  I 
quickly  drew  from  it  the  sealed  letter.  Well, 
dear  sir,  I  kept  it  in  my  hand  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour ;  I  could  not  yet  read  it.  Finally  I  told 
myself: — This  is  too  silly!  and  I  broke  the  three 
seals  with  one  stroke  of  my  thumb.  And  the 
big  red  seal  I  crushed  to  dust.  After  having 
read,  I  rubbed  my  eyes,  believing  I  was  mis- 
taken. 

I  reread  the  letter  entirely.  I  read  it  again. 
I  started  *all  over,  beginning  at  the  last  line  and 

[71] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

i  .  -— 

going  up  to  the  first.  I  did  not  believe  it.  My 
legs  wobbled  a  bit  under  me ;  I  sat  down.  There 
was  a  kind  of  twitching  in  the  skin  of  my  face. 
I  rubbed  my  cheeks  a  little  with  rum.  I  put 
some  in  the  hollow  of  my  hands.  I  pitied  my- 
self to  be  as  silly  as  all  that.  But  that  was 
only  for  an  instant.  I  went  up  to  take  the 
air. 

Laurette  was  so  beautiful  that  day  that  I 
^ould  not  go  near  her :  she  wore  a  little  white 
dress,  very  simple,  arms  bare  to  the  neck,  and 
her  splendid  thick  hair  fell  the  way  she  always 
wore  it.  She  amused  herself  by  dipping  in  the 
seas  her  other  dress  at  the  end  of  a  rope,  laugh- 
ing as  she  tried  to  get  hold  of  the  wrack,  a 
seaweed  resembling  bunches  of  grapes,  which 
floats  on  the  waters  in  the  Tropics. 

— "Come  and  look  at  the  grapes!  Come 
quickly!"  she  cried.  And  her  husband  leaned 
on  her,  and  bent  over,  and  never  looked  at  the 
water,  because  he  gazed  at  her  with  a  deep 
tenderness. 

I  signalled  the  young  man  to  come  and  talk 
to  me  on  the  quarter-deck.  She  turned  around. 
I  don't  know  how  my  face  looked,  but  she 
dropped  her  rope.  She  grabbed  him  violently 
by  the  arm,  and  said  to  him : 

[72] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

— "Oh!  don't  go  to  him,  he  is  so  pale." 

That  might  well  be;  there  was  reason  for 
looking  white.  Nevertheless,  he  came  to  me 
on  the  quarter-deck.  She  looked  at  us,  lean- 
ing against  the  main  mast.  We  walked  back 
and  forth  a  long  time  without  talking.  I  was 
smoking  a  cigar  which  tasted  bitter,  and  I  spat 
it  out  into  the  water.  His  eyes  followed  me. 
I  took  his  arm.  I  was  choking,  on  my  word 
of  honour,  choking! 

—"Ah  well !"  I  said  to  him  at  last.  "Tell  me 
now,  my  young  friend,  tell  me  a  little  of  your 
history.  What  the  devil  have  you  been  doing 
to  those  dogs  of  lawyers  who  sit  back  there  like 
five  pieces  of  a  King?  It  seems  they  are  very 
angry  with  you!    It's  queer!" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  hung  his  head 
(with  such  a  gentle  air,  poor  boy!)  and  said  to 
me: 

— "Oh  my  God!  Captain,  nothing  much 
really:  three  vaudeville  ditties  on  the  Direc- 
toire,  that's  all." 

— "Not  possible!"  said  I. 

— "Oh  my  Lord!  yes!  The  verses  were  not 
very  good  at  that.  I  was  arrested  on  the  fif- 
teenth of  Fructidor  and  brought  to  Court,  tried 

[73] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

on  the  sixteenth,  and  condemned  to  death  first, 
and  then  to  be  deported,  as  a  favour." 

— "It's  queer,"  said  I.  "The  Directeurs  are 
very  touchy  fellows.  For  the  letter  you  know 
of  orders  me  to  shoot  you." 

He  did  not  answer,  and  smiled,  putting  up 
a  pretty  good  front  for  a  chap  of  nineteen. 
He  only  looked  at  his  wife,  and  wiped  his  fore- 
head, from  which  rolled  drops  of  sweat.  I  had 
as  many  on  my  face,  I  had — and  other  drops 
in  my  eyes. 

I  resumed : 

— "It  seems  that  those  citizens  did  not  care 
to  do  for  you  on  land.  They  must  have  thought 
that  out  here  it  would  not  seem  so  much.  But 
it  is  very  sad  for  me.  For  no  matter  what  a 
fine  youngster  you  are,  I  cannot  excuse  my- 
self from  the  orders.  The  death-warrant  is 
there,  all  regular,  and  the  order  of  execution, 
signed,  sealed  and  delivered.  There  is  nothing 
missing." 

He  saluted  me  most  politely,  and  blushed. 

— "I  ask  nothing.  Captain,"  he  said  with  a 
voice  as  mild  as  usual.  "I  would  be  distressed 
to  have  you  fail  of  your  duties.  Only  I  would 
like  to  talk  a  little  with  Laure,  and  beg  of  you 

[74] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

to  protect  her  in  case  she  should  survive  me, 
which  I  don't  believe." 

— "Oh,  as  to  that,  you  are  right,  my  boy,"  I 
told  him.  "If  it  does  not  displease  you,  I  will 
take  her  back  to  her  family  upon  my  return 
to  France,  and  I  shall  only  leave  her  when  she 
will  not  want  to  see  me  any  more.  But,  to  my 
mind,  you  may  be  certain  that  she  will  never 
recover  from  the  blow.    Poor  little  woman!" 

He  took  both  my  hands,  pressed  them,  and 
said  to  me : 

— "My  dear  Captain,  you  are  suffering  more 
than  I  from  the  task  that  lies  before  you.  I 
can  easily  see  that.  But  what  can  we  do  about 
it?  I  count  on  you  to  keep  for  her  what  little 
belongs  to  me,  to  protect  her,  to  see  that  she 
receives  what  her  old  mother  might  leave  her. 
May  I?  To  guard  her  life,  her  honour,  and 
also  that  her  health  is  always  taken  care  of. 
Look,"  he  added  more  softly,  "I  must  tell  you 
that  she  is  very  delicate.  Her  lungs  are  often 
affected  so  that  she  may  swoon  several  times  a 
day.  She  must  keep  warmly  covered  always. 
In  short,  you  wdll  take  the  place  of  her  father, 
of  her  mother  and  of  myself  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, won't  you?  If  she  might  keep  the  rings 
her  mother  gave  her,  I  would  like  it  very  much. 

[75] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

But  if  it  is  necessary  to  sell  them  for  her,  it 
will  have  to  be  done.  My  poor  Laurette !  Look 
how  beautiful  she  is!" 

Now  as  our  conversation  commenced  to  grow 
tender  it  bothered  me.  I  began  to  pucker  my 
eyebrows.  I  had  been  talking  to  him  in  a  light 
vein  so  as  not  to  weaken  myself.  But  I  could 
not  keep  it  up  any  longer. — "Come,  enough 
of  that,"  I  told  him.  "Between  brave  men  all 
that  is  understood.  Go  talk  to  her,  and  let  us 
hurry." 

I  pressed  his  hand  in  a  friendly  manner. 
And  as  he  did  not  let  go  of  mine  and  kept  look- 
ing at  me  strangely: — "Ah  now!  if  I  may  give 
you  a  hint,"  I  added,  "don't  talk  to  her  about 
that.  We  will  arrange  all  without  her  know- 
ing about  it,  nor  you  either,  for  that  matter. 
That  is  my  business." 

—"Ah,  that's  different,"  he  said;  "I  did  not 
know  .  ,  .  that  will  be  better,  indeed.  More- 
over, the  farewells,  the  farewells!  they 
weaken." 

— "Yes,  yes,"  I  told  him ;  "don't  be  a  baby, 
that  will  be  best.  Don't  embrace  her,  my 
friend,  don't  embrace  her  if  you  can  help  it,  or 
you  are  lost." 

[76] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

I  gave  him  another  firm  handshake  and  let 
him  go.  Oh,  it  was  hard  on  me,  all  that  was. 

Upon  my  word,  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  kept 
the  secret  well.  For  they  walked  together, 
arm  in  arm,  along  the  edge  of  the  deck,  and 
picked  up  the  rope  and  the  dress  one  of  the 
cabinboys  had  fished  up. 

Suddenly  night  came.  It  was  the  moment  I 
had  decided  to  take.  But  that  moment  has 
lasted  for  me  until  this  day  and  I  shall  drag 
it  through  all  my  life  like  a  ball  and  chain. 

Here  the  old  Major  was  compelled  to  stop. 
I  took  care  not  to  talk,  for  fear  of  interrupting 
his  thoughts.    Striking  his  breast  he  resumed: 

That  moment,  I  tell  you,  I  cannot  yet  un- 
derstand it.  I  felt  anger  raising  my  hair  and 
at  the  same  time  I  don't  know  what  it  was  that 
made  me  obey  and  drove  me  to  it.  I  called 
the  ofiicers  and  told  one  of  them: 

— "Come  on,  lower  a  boat  .  .  .  for  we  are 
hangmen  now!  You'll  put  that  woman  in  it, 
and  you'll  take  her  out  to  sea  until  you  hear 
rifle  shots.  Then  you'll  come  back."  To  obey 
a  piece  of  paper!  For  it  was  only  that  after 
all!   There  must  have  been  something  in  the 

[77] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

air  that  egged  me  on.  I  could  see  this  young 
fellow  from  afar  •  .  .  oh!  it  was  horrible  to 
seel  .  .  .  kneeling  before  his  Laurette,  aijd 
kissing  her  knees  and  her  feet.  Don't  you  think 
I  was  in  an  awful  plight? 

I  yelled  like  a  madman: — "Separate  them 
. .  .  we  are  all  scoundrels!  Separate  them  .  •  . 
The  miserable  Republic  is  a  dead  body !  Direc- 
teurSj  Directoire,  they  are  the  vermin  on  it !  I 
quit  the  sea!  I  am  not  afraid  of  all  your  law- 
yers. Tell  them  what  I  am  saying,  what  do  I 
care  ?"  Ah !  I  did  worry  a  lot  about  them,  that's 
a  fact !  I  would  have  liked  to  have  them  in  my 
power.  I  would  have  had  them  shot,  all  five  of 
them,  the  rascals!  Oh,  I  would  have  done  it. 
I  worried  about  my  life  no  more  than  that 
water  falling  there,  see  ...  I  worried  a  lot. 
.  .  .  A  life  like  mine  .  .  .  Bah!  .  .  . 

And  the  voice  of  the  Major  fell  lower  and 
lower  and  became  as  uncertain  as  his  words. 
And  he  walked  along  biting  his  lips  and  puck- 
ering his  eyebrows  in  terrible  and  ferocious 
distraction.  He  made  little  convulsive  motions 
and  beat  his  mule  with  the  scabbard  of  his  sabre 
as  if  he  meant  to  kill  it.  What  amazed  me  was 
to  see  the  yellow  hide  of  his  face  grow  a  deep 

[78] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

red.  He  unbuttoned  and  violently  threw  open 
his  coat,  baring  his  breast  to  the  wind  and  rain. 
We  continued  walking  like  this  amid  a  dee^) 
silence.  I  could  see  that  he  would  talk  no  more 
of  his  own  accord,  and  that  I  would  have  to 
make  up  my  mind  to  question  him. 

"I  understand,"  I  said  to  him  as  if  he  had 
finished  his  story,  "that  after  such  a  cruel 
adventure  one's  profession  becomes  a  hor- 
ror." 

"Oh!  the  profession!  Are  you  crazy?"  he 
flung  at  me  brusquely.  "It  is  not  the  profes- 
sion! Never  shall  a  ship  captain  be  obliged  to 
be  an  executioner  unless  Governments  of 
thieves  and  murderers  are  come,  that  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  habit  a  poor  fellow  has  of 
blindly  obeying,  always  obeying,  obeying  like 
a  miserable  machine,  in  spite  of  his  heart." 

At  the  same  moment  he  pulled  from  his 
pocket  a  red  handkerchief  in  which  he  burst 
out  sobbing  like  a  child.  I  stopped  a  moment 
to  fix  my  stirrup,  and  remaining  behind  the 
cart,  I  went  on  in  the  rear  for  a  while,  feeling 
that  he  would  be  humiliated  if  I  saw  his  abun- 
dant tears  too  plainly. 

I  had  guessed  rightly,  for  after  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  he  too  fell  in  behind  his 

[79] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

poor  carriage,  and  asked  me  if  I  had  no  razors 
in  my  portmanteau.  To  which  I  simply  an- 
swered that  having  no  beard  as  yet,  razors 
would  be  quite  useless  to  me.  He  did  not  in- 
sist, it  had  been  merely  to  talk  of  something 
else.  But  I  noticed  with  satisfaction  that  he 
came  back  to  his  story,  for  all  at  once  he  said 
to  me: 

"You  have  never  seen  a  ship  in  your  life, 
have  you?" 

"I  have  not  seen  any  except  in  the  Pano- 
rama at  Paris,"  I  answered,  "and  I  have  no 
great  faith  in  the  maritime  knowledge  I  have 
gathered  from  that." 

"Then  you  don't  know  what  the  bowsprit 
is,  do  you?" 

"I  have  not  an  idea,"  I  replied. 

"It  is  a  sort  of  beam  projecting  in  front 
of  the  vessel,  from  which  the  anchor  is  thrown 
into  the  sea.  When  a  man  is  shot,  he  is  usually 
stood  there,"  he  added  more  softly. 

"Ah,  I  understand,  because  from  there  he 
will  fall  into  the  sea." 

He  did  not  answer  and  began  to  describe  all 
the  kinds  of  boats  a  brig  may  carry  and  their 
disposition  about  the  ship.  And  then,  without 
order  in  his  ideas,  he  continued  his  tale  with 

[80] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

"     I 

this  assumed  callousness,  which  long  service  in- 
fallibly imparts,  because  it  is  necessary  tcr  show 
to  his  inferiors  one's  scorn  of  danger,  one's 
scorn  of  men,  one's  scorn  of  life,  the  scorn  of 
death  and  the  scorn  of  oneself.  And  all  this 
hides  under  a  hard  covering,  almost  always  a 
profound  sensitiveness.  The  hardness  of  the 
fighting  man  is  like  an  iron  mask  on  a  noble 
face,  like  a  stone  cell  which  holds  a  royal  pris- 
oner. 

"The  lowering  of  the  boat  took  six  men," 
he  resumed.  "They  flung  themselves  into  it 
and  carried  Laure  along,  before  she  had  the 
time  to  cry  out  or  talk.  Oh !  this  is  a  business 
no  honest  man  can  console  himself  about  when 
he  has  been  the  cause  of  it.  No  use  talking, 
such  a  thing  cannot  be  forgotten!  .  .  ,  Ah! 
what  beastly  weather  this  is !  What  devil  has 
made  me  tell  all  this !  When  I  tell  it,  I  cannot 
stop  myself,  I  am  gone.  It  is  a  story  that 
makes  me  drunk  like  the  wine  of  Juran9on. 
Ah,  what  rotten  weather  this  is!  My  cloak  is 
soaked  through. 

I  was  talking  to  you  of  this  little  Laurette, 
I  believe!  The  poor  woman!  There  are  such 
clumsy  people  in  the  world!    The  officer  was 

[81] 


/^ 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

fool  enough  to  take  the  boat  in  front  of  the 
brig.  After  all,  though,  it  can  be  truthfully 
said  that  everything  cannot  be  foreseen.  I  had 
counted  on  the  night  to  hide  the  business  and 
I  did  not  think  of  the  flash  of  the  twelve  rifles 
fired  in  salvo.  And,  upon  my  word,  from  the 
boat  she  saw  her  husband  drop  into  the  sea, 
shot! 

If  there  is  a  God  above.  He  knows  how 
the  thing  I  am  going  to  tell  you  came  about. 
I  do  not.  But  it  was  seen  and  heard  as  I  see 
you  and  hear  you.  At  the  moment  of  fire  she 
put  her  hand  to  her  head  as  if  a  bullet  had 
struck  her  on  the  forehead,  and  sat  down  in 
that  boat  without  swooning,  without  crying, 
without  speaking,  and  came  back  to  the  brig 
when  they  wanted  and  the  way  they  wanted. 
I  went  to  her,  and  I  talked  to  her  long  and  as 
best  I  could.  She  seemed  to  listen  to  me  and 
looked  me  in  the  face,  rubbing  her  forehead. 
She  did  not  understand,  and  her  forehead  was 
all  red  and  her  face  all  white.  She  trembled 
in  all  her  limbs  as  if  she  were  afraid  of  every- 
body. She  has  remained  that  way.  She  is 
still  the  same,  the  poor  little  thing!  An  idiot, 
or  like  an  imbecile,  or  crazy,  whatever  you 
please.    Never  a  word  has  been  dragged  from 

[82] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

her,  unless  it  be  that  she  says  to  take  away 
what  she  has  in  her  head. 

From  that  moment  on  I  became  as  sad  as 
she  and  I  sensed  something  inside  of  me  which 
told  me:  ''Stand  by  her  till  the  eiid  of  your 
days,  and  watch  over  her/'  I  have  done  that. 
When  I  came  back  in  France,  I  requested  to 
be  transferred,  with  my  rank,  to  the  land 
troops.  For  I  had  come  to  hate  the  sea,  be- 
cause I  had  spilled  innocent  blood  into  it.  I 
searched  for  Laure's  relatives.  Her  mother 
had  died.  Her  sister,  to  whom  I  brought  the 
insane  girl,  would  nothing  of  her,  and  of- 
fered to  put  her  in  the  mad-house  at  Charen- 
ton.  I  turned  my  back  upon  them,  and  kept 
her  with  me. 

He  paused : 

"Ah!  my  God!  if  you  want  to  see  her,  my 
comrade,  you  have  only  to  say  so." 

"Could  she  be  inside  there?"  I  asked  him. 

"Surely!  Look!  Wait!  Whoa,  whoa! 
You  mule.  ..." 


[83] 


CHAPTER  III 
I  CONTINUE  MY  JOUENEY 

And  he  stopped  his  poor  mule,  that  seemed 
delighted  at  my  having  put  this  question.  At 
the  same  time  he  lifted  the  oilcloth  off  his  lit- 
tle cart,  as  if  to  fix  the  straw  which  almost 
filled  it,  and  I  saw  something  very  sad.  I  saw 
two  blue  eyes,  huge  eyes,  beautifully  shaped, 
set  in  a  pale  face,  wasted  and  long,  over  which 
streamed  blond  hair,  all  matted.  I  really  saw 
only  those  eyes  that  were  all  that  remained 
of  this  poor  woman,  for  the  rest  of  her  was 
dead.  Her  forehead  was  red.  Her  cheeks, 
hollow  and  white,  showed  bluish  cheekbones. 
She  crouched  in  the  straw,  so  completely  cov- 
ered by  it  that  her  knees  could  only  just  be 
seen.  She  was  playing  dominoes  on  them  all 
by  herself.  She  looked  at  us  a  moment,  trem- 
bled a  long  time,  smiled  at  me  a*  little,  and  re- 
sumed her  game.  It  seemed  to  me  that  she 
was  trying  to  understand  how  her  right  hand 
should  beat  her  left. 

[84] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

"You  see,  she  has  been  playing  that  game 
for  a  month,  the  battalion  chief  told  me.  To- 
morrow it  may  be  perhaps  another  game  which 
will  last  a  long  time.    Queer,  is  it  not?" 

Meanwhile  he  began  to  replace  the  oilcloth 
on  his  shako  which  the  rain  had  mussed  up  a 
little. 

"Poor  Laurette!"  I  said.  "You  have  lost  the 
game  for  good!" 

I  guided  my  horse  close  to  the  cart,  and  gave 
her  my  hand.  She  gave  me  hers  mechanically, 
smiling  very  sweetly  the  while.  I  remarked 
with  astonishment  that  on  her  long  fingers  she 
wore  two  diamond  rings.  I  thought  they  were 
her  mother's  rings  and  I  asked  myself  how,  in 
their  poverty,  they  could  have  been  left  to  her. 
Not  for  all  the  world  would  I  have  remarked 
upon  it  to  the  old  Major.  But  as  his  eyes  fol- 
lowed mine,  and  saw  them  resting  on  Laure's 
fingers,  he  said  to  me  with  a  sort  of  pride : 

"They  are  pretty  big  diamonds,  aren't 
they?  They  might  have  had  their  price  occa- 
sionally, but  I  have  not  wanted  her  to  part 
with  them,  poor  child.  When  any  one  touches 
them,  she  cries.  She  never  leaves  them  off. 
For  the  rest,  she  never  complains.  She  even 
sews  from  time  to  time.    I  have  kept  my  word 

[85] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

to  her  little  husband  and,  truly,  I  do  not  re- 
gret it.  I  have  never  left  her  and  I  have  told 
everywhere  that  she  is  my  daughter  who  is 
insane.  People  have  respected  that.  In  the 
Army  everything  arranges  itself  better  than 
one  in  Paris  would  think.  She  has  been 
through  all  the  wars  of  the  Emperor  with  me, 
and  I  have  always  pulled  her  through.  I  have 
always  kept  her  warm.  What  with  straw  and 
a  little  cart,  that  is  never  impossible.  She  was 
pretty  well  cared  for.  And  I,  as  battalion 
conmiander  with  good  pay,  and  with  my  pen- 
sion of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  and  the  month- 
ly salary  from  Napoleon  which  was  doubled 
at  the  time,  I  kept  quite  ahead  of  expenses, 
and  she  did  not  trouble  me.  On  the  contrary, 
her  childishness  sometimes  gave  the  officers  of 
the  Seventh  Light  something  to  laugh  about." 

Then  he  went  close  to  her  and  tapped  her  on 
the  shoulder,  the  way  he  might  have  his  little 
mule. 

"Well,  little  girl  1  Say  now,  talk  a  little  with 
the  Lieutenant  here.  Come,  nod  your  head  a 
little." 

She  returned  to  her  dominoes. 

"Oh,"  he  said;  "she  is  a  little  cross  to-day  on 
account  of  the  rain.  But  she  never  catches  cold. 

[86] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

Crazy  people  never  get  sick ;  they  are  easy  that 
way.  On  the  Beresina  and  all  through  the 
retreat  from  Moscow  she  went  bareheaded. 
All  right,  little  girl,  go  on  playing,  don't  you 
worry  about  us.  Go,  do  what  you  please, 
Laurette." 

She  took  his  hand  which  he  had  laid  on  her 
shoulder,  a  big  hand,  black  and  wrinkled.  Tim- 
idly she  put  it  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it  like  a 
poor  slave.  I  felt  my  heart  wrung  by  that 
kiss  and  I  pulled  my  bridle  violently. 

"Shall  we  go  on  our  way.  Major?"  I  asked 
him.  "Night  will  fall  before  we  have  reached 
Bethune." 

With  the  tip  of  his  sabre,  the  Major  care- 
fully scraped  the  yellow  mud  which  clung  to  his 
boots.  Then  he  climbed  on  the  carriage  step, 
and  pulled  over  Laure's  head  the  cloth  hood  of 
a  little  cape  she  wore.  He  took  off  his  black 
silk  muffler  and  put  it  around  the  neck  of  his 
adopted  daughter;  after  which  he  kicked  his 
mule,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said:  ''En 
avant,  bad  crev/!"    And  we  started  on  again. 

Sadly  the  rain  kept  on  pouring.  Grey  sky 
and  grey  earth  stretched  endlessly.  A  kind  of 
wan  light,  a  pale  sun,  all  wet,  sank  behind  big 

[87] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

windmills  that  did  not  turn.  We  fell  back 
into  a  deep  silence. 

I  looked  at  my  old  Major.  He  marched 
with  big  strides,  with  a  vigour  always  sus- 
tained, while  his  mule  seemed  winded,  and  even 
my  horse  began  to  hang  its  head.  The  good 
fellow  took  off  his  shako  from  time  to  time  to 
wipe  his  bald  forehead  and  the  few  grey  hairs 
on  his  head,  or  his  heavy  eyebrows,  or  his  white 
whiskers  from  which  the  rain  streamed.  He 
did  not  trouble  himself  about  the  effect  his 
tale  might  have  on  me.  He  made  himself 
out  neither  better  nor  worse  than  he  was.  He 
had  not  deigned  to  picture  himself.  He  was 
not  thinking  of  himself  and,  after  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  he  began  in  the  same  tone  upon 
a  much  longer  yarn  about  a  campaign  of  Mar- 
shal Massena,  where  he  had  formed  his  bat- 
talion into  a  square  against  I  do  not  know 
which  Cavalry.  I  did  not  listen  to  him,  al- 
though he  warmed  up  to  demonstrate  to  me 
the  superiority  of  the  foot-soldier  over  the 
horseman. 

Night  fell.  We  did  not  travel  fast.  The 
mud  became  thicker  and  deeper.  Nothing  on 
the  road,  and  nothing  at  its  end!  We  halted 
at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  a  dead  tree,  the  only  tree 

[88] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

along  the  way.  He  first  cared  for  his  mule,  as 
I  for  my  horse.  Then  he  looked  into  the  cart, 
like  a  mother  into  the  cradle  of  her  baby.  I 
heard  him  say:  "Come,  little  girl,  pull  this 
overcoat  over  your  feet  and  try  to  sleep.  Come, 
that's  all  right.  She  does  not  feel  a  drop  of 
rain.  Ah !  the  devil,  she  has  broken  my  watch  I 
had  left  around  her  neck!  Oh,  my  poor  silver 
watch!  Ah  well,  it's  all  the  same!  Try  to 
sleep,  child.  There  is  nice  weather  coming 
soon.  Queer!  she  always  has  a  fever.  Mad 
women  are  like  that.  Look,  here  is  some  choco- 
late for  you,  my  child." 

He  leaned  the  cart  against  the  tree  and  we 
sat  down  under  the  wheels,  sheltered  from  the 
eternal  shower,  sharing  a  little  bread  between 
us :  a  miserable  supper. 

"I  am  sorry  that  we  have  nothing  but  this," 
he  said.  "But  it  is  better  than  horseflesh  cooked 
under  the  ashes  and  with  gunpowder  on  top, 
by  way  of  salt,  the  way  we  ate  it  in  Russia. 
The  poor  little  woman,  I  surely  have  to  give 
her  the  best  I  have.  You  see  that  I  always  put 
her  by  herself.  She  can't  stand  a  man  near  her 
since  the  affair  of  the  letter.  I  am  old  and 
she  seems  to  believe  that  I  am  her  father.  In 
spite  of  that,  she  would  strangle  me  if  I  as 

[89] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

much  as  tried  to  kiss  her  on  the  forehead.  Edu- 
cation always  leaves  them  something,  it  ap- 
pears, for  I  have  never  noticed  her  forgetting 
to  hide  herself  like  a  nun.    Queer,  is  it  not?" 

While  he  was  talking  ahout  her  like  this, 
we  heard  her  sigh  and  say:  ''Take  away  this 
lead!  Take  out  this  bulletr  I  rose.  He  made 
me  sit  down  again. 

"Sit  still,  sit  still,"  he  told  me;  *'it  is  nothing. 
She  says  that  all  her  life,  because  she  con- 
stantly believes  she  feels  a  bullet  in  her  head. 
That  does  not  prevent  her,  though,  from  doing 
all  she  is  told,  and  that  very  sweetly." 

I  kept  silent,  listening  to  him  sadly.  I  began 
to  figure  that  from  1797  to  1815,  the  year  we 
were  in,  eighteen  years  had  thus  gone  by  for 
this  man.  I  remained  beside  him  silently  for  a 
long  time,  trying  to  account  for  this  character 
and  its  destiny.  Then,  for  no  reason  whatever, 
I  shook  his  hand  enthusiastically.  He  was 
surprised  at  that. 

"You  are  a  worthy  man,"  I  told  him.  He 
answered  me: 

"Eh!  Why  do  you  think  so?  Because  of 
this  poor  woman?  .  .  .  You  surely  feel,  my 
boy,  that  it  was  a  duty.  Self-denial  is  almost 
a  second  nature  now." 

[90] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

And  he  talked  to  me  some  more  about  Mas- 
sena. 

Next  day,  at  sunrise,  we  arrived  at  Bethune, 
an  ugly  little  fortified  town,  of  which  you 
would  say  that  the  ramparts,  tightening  their 
circle,  have  squeezed  the  houses  together. 
Everything  there  was  confusion.  It  was  a  mo- 
ment of  alarm.  The  townspeople  began  to  take 
in  the  white  flags  from  the  windows  and  to  sew 
on  tricolour  ones  in  their  homes.  The  drum- 
mers were  sounding  the  general  alarm,  the 
trumpeters  blew  "to  horse,"  'upon  orders  from 
the  Duke  de  Berry.  The  long  Picardy  carts 
carried  the  Cent-Suisses  and  their  baggage. 
The  cannon  of  the  Gardes-du-Corps  running 
to  the  ramparts,  the  carriages  of  the  princes, 
the  squadrons  of  the  Red  Companies  forming, 
all  cluttered  the  town.  ^The  sight  of  the  King's 
Gendarmes  and  the  Musketeers  made  me  for- 
get my  old  travelling  companion.  I  joined  my 
Company  and  in  the  crowd  I  lost  the  little  cart 
and  its  poor  occupants.  To  my  great  sorrow  1 
lost  them  for  all  time. 

It  had  been  the  first  time  I  had  read  to  the 
very  bottom  of  a  true  soldier's  heart.  This 
encounter  had  revealed  to  me  a  man's  nature 
which  was  unknown  to  me,  and  which  the  coun- 

[91] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

try  knows  little  and  does  not  treat  well.  From 
that  moment  on  I  have  placed  it  very  high  in 
my  esteem.  I  have  often  since  searched  around 
me  for  some  man  similar  to  that  one,  and  ca- 
pable of  this  self-forgetfulness,  this  complete 
and  heedless  Abnegation  of  Self.  Well,  dur- 
ing fourteen  years  of  Army  life,  it  has  been 
only  in  the  Army,  and  particularly  in  the 
scorned  and  humble  ranks  of  the  infantry,  that 
I  have  again  found  men  of  this  antit(ue  type; 
men  who  push  their  sense  of  duty  to  its  utmost 
consequences,  having  neither  regrets  for  their 
obedience  nor  shame  for  their  poverty ;  men  of 
simple  habits  and  speech,  proud  of  their  coun- 
try's glory  and  unmindful  of  their  own,  joy- 
fully confined  to  their  obscurity  and  sharing 
with  the  unfortunate  the  black  bread  they  pay 
for  with  their  blood.  ^ 

fFor  a  long  time  I  did  not  know  what  had 
become  of  this  poor  battalion  chief,  the  more 
so  because  he  had  not  told  me  his  name  and  I 
r '  ii  had  not  asked  it  of  him.  But  in  a  cafe  one  day, 
^  in  1825  I  think,  an  old  infantry  captain  of 
X  the  line  to  whom  I  described  him  while  watch- 
S    ing  the  parade,  said  to  me ; 
^        "Why  yes,  I  knew  him,  the  poor  devil.    He 
was  a  brave  man.    He  went  down  with  a  bullet 

[92] 


LAURETTE,  OR  THE  RED  SEAL 

at  Waterloo.  He  did  have,  in  truth,  a  sort  of 
crazy  girl,  whom  he  left  with  the  baggage 
train.  We  took  her  to  the  hospital  at  Amiens 
on  our  way  to  join  the  Army  of  the  Loir.  She 
died  there,  raving  mad,  three  days  later." 

"I  can  well  believe  it,"  I  said  to  him;  "she 
did  not  have  her  foster-father  any  more!" 

"Ah  bah!  Father?  What  are  you  saying?" 
he  added,  with  a  look  he  wanted  to  make  sly 
and  lewd. 

*'I  say  that  the  roll-call  is  being  sounded," 
I  retorted,  getting  up  and  out. 

And  I  too  practised  Abnegation, 


[93] 


BOOK  III 
THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


BOOK  III:  THE  VIGIL  OF 

VINCENNES 

CHAPTER  I 
EESPONSIBILITY 

I  WELL  remember  the  consternation  into 
which  this  story  plunged  my  soul.  Perhaps  it 
instigated  my  slow  cure  for  this  disease  of 
military  enthusiasm.  I  felt  at  once  humili- 
ated for  running  the  chance  of  criminality  and 
for  finding  myself  with  a  slave's  sabre  in  my 
hand  instead  of  a  knight's  sword.  Many  sim- 
ilar matters  came  to  my  knowledge,  which 
blighted  in  my  eyes  this  noble  human  species, 
which  I  had  wished  to  see  consecrated  only  to 
the  defence  of  the  country. 

In  the  same  way,  during  the  era  of  the 
Terror,  another  ship  captain  had  happened 
to  receive,  like  the  entire  navy,  the  monstrous 
order  from  the  "Committee  of  Public  Wel- 
fare" to  shoot  the  prisoners  of  war.  He  had  had 
the  misfortune  of  capturing  an  English  vessel 

[9T] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

and  the  greater  misfortune  of  obeying  the 
Government  orders.  Returning  to  port,  he 
gave  an  account  of  his  shameful  execution,  re- 
tired from  the  service  and  died  from  grief 
shortly  after. 

This  captain  had  commanded  the  Boudeuse, 
frigate,  which  first  made  the  trip  around  the 
world  under  orders  of  Monsieur  de  Bougain- 
ville, a  relative  of  mine.  This  great  seafarer 
wept  over  it,  for  the  honour  of  his  old  ship. 

Will  the  law  never  be  made  which  in  such 
events  may  reconcile  Duty  and  Conscience? 
Is  the  public  voice  wrong  which  from  genera- 
tion to  generation  is  raised  to  absolve  and  to 
honour  the  disobedience  of  the  Vicomte  d'Orte 
who  replied  to  Charles  IX  when  the  latter  or- 
dered him  to  extend  the  Parisian  St.  Bartholo- 
mew Massacre  to  Dax : 

"Sire,  I  have  communicated  the  command  of 
Your  Majesty  to  his  loyal  subjects  and  men  at 
arms.  I  have  found  among  them  none  but  good 
citizens  and  brave  soldiers  and  not  a  single 
executioner." 

And  if  he  had  reason  to  refuse  obedience, 
how  can  we  live  under  laws  we  consider  rea- 
sonable for  inflicting  death  upon  him  that 
would  refuse  this  sam^e  blind  obedience?   We 

[98] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


admire  the  free  arbiter  and  we  kill  him.  The 
absurd  eamiot  rule  long  this  way.  It  will  be 
indeed  necessary  to  regulate  the  circumstances 
when  deliberation  shall  be  permitted  to  the  man 
under  arms,  and  the  degree  up  to  which  the 
intelligence — and  with  it  the  exercise  of  Con- 
science and  Justice — shall  be  left  free.  ...  It 
will  be  indeed  necessary  to  come  to  this  some 
day. 

I  do  not  conceal  from  myself  that  this  is  an 
extremely  difficult  question,  one  which  strikes 
at  the  very  root  of  discipline.  Far  from  wish- 
ing to  weaken  this  discipline  I  think  it  has 
need  of  corroboration  among  ourselves  on 
many  points  and  that,  facing  the  enemy,  the 
laws  cannot  be  too  Draconian.  When  the 
Army  turns  its  iron  breast  upon  the  foe,  it 
must  march  and  act  as  one  man.  This  must  be. 
But  when  it  has  turned  about,  when  it  has 
facing  it  none  but  the  mother  country,  it 
would  be  well  to  find,  then  at  least,  prudent 
laws  which  would  permit  it  to  have  filial  en- 
trails. It  is  to  be  desired  also  that  immovable 
bounds  be  fixed  once  for  all  to  those  absolute 
orders  given  to  the  Armies  by  the  Sovereign 
Power,  which  has  so  often  fallen  into  unworthy 
hands  during  our  history.  Let  it  never  be  pos- 

[99] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

sible  for  some  adventurers,  arrived  at  Dictator- 
ship, to  transform  into  assassins  four  hundred 
thousand  men  of  honour,  by  a  law,  like  their 
reign,  of  a  day. 

True,  I  have  often  seen  in  the  customs  of 
the  service  that,  thanks  perhaps  to  French 
carelessness  and  the  happy-go-lucky  side  of 
our  character,  as  compensation  and  quite  apart 
from  the  misery  of  military  servitude,  there 
reigned  in  the  Armies  a  kind  of  freedom  of 
mind  which  softened  the  humiliation  of  passive 
obedience. 

Observing  in  every  fighting  man  something 
of  frankness  and  noble  unconstraint,  I  have 
thought  this  due  to  a  peaceful  soul  and  a  spirit 
relieved  of  the  enormous  weight  of  responsi- 
bility. I  was  very  much  of  a  child  then  and  I 
felt  little  by  little  that  this  sense  eased  my  con- 
science. I  seemed  to  perceive  in  each  general 
in  chief  a  sort  of  Moses  who  had  to  render  his 
terrible  accounting  to  God  alone,  after  having 
said  to  the  sons  of  Levi :  "Pass  and  pass  again 
over  the  field ;  let  each  kill  his  brother,  his  son, 
his  friend  and  whosoever  be  his  next  of  kin. 
And  twenty-three  thousand  men  were  killed,** 
says  Exodus  xxxii:27.  I  knew  the  Bible  by 
heart  and  this  Book  and  I  were  so  inseparable 
[100] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 

that  during  the  longest  marches  it  followed  me 
always. 

One  may  see  the  first  consolation  it  gave  me. 
I  thought  I  should  have  to  have  a  great  deal  of 
ill  luck  ere  one  of  my  Moses  in  gold  braid 
would  order  me  to  kill  off  my  whole  family. 
And  it  did  not  actually  ever  happen  to  me,  as 
I  had  very  wisely  conjectured. 

I  thought  also  that,  even  though  the  imprac- 
ticable peace  of  Abbe  de  St.  Pierre  should  come 
to  reign  upon  earth  and  should  he  himself  be 
charged  to  regulate  that  universal  liberty  and 
equality,  he  would  need  for  the  task  a  few 
regiments  of  Levites,  whom  he  could  tell  to 
gird  on  the  sword  and  whose  submission  would 
call  down  upon  them  the  blessings  of  the  Lord. 

In  this  way  I  sought  to  make  my  peace  with 
the  monstrous  resignation  of  passive  obedi- 
ence, by  considering  to  what  divine  source  it 
harked  back,  and  how  all  social  order  seemed 
to  lean  upon  obedience.  But  I  had  need  of 
many  reasonings  indeed  and  of  many  para- 
doxes to  succeed  in  making  it  take  some  hold 
on  my  soul.  I  liked  very  much  to  impose  it, 
but  very  little  to  submit  to  it.  I  found  it 
admirably  wise  under  my  feet,  but  exceedingly 
absurd  over  my  head.  I  have  seen  many  men 
[101] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

since  who  reasoned  the  same  way  but  who  did 
not  have  the  excuse  I  had  at  the  time:  I  was 
a  Levite  only  sixteen  years  old. 

In  those  days  I  had  not  yet  cast  my  eyes 
over  the  entire  country  of  France,  nor  on  that 
other  country  that  surrounds  it,  called  Europe ; 
and  still  further,  over  the  whole  Country  of 
all  Humanity,  the  globe,  which  is  fortunately 
growing  smaller  every  day,  squeezed  together 
as  it  is  in  the  hand  of  civilisation.  I  did  not 
think  how  much  lighter  yet  a  fighting  man's 
heart  would  be  in  his  breast,  if  he  should  feel 
two  men  within  himself,  one  of  which  could 
obey  the  other ;  if  he  knew  that  after  his  wholly 
rigorous  part  in  war  times  he  might  have  the 
right  to  a  wholly  beneficent  and  no  less  glori- 
ous part  in  peace ;  if  at  a  certain  fixed  rank  he 
might  have  the  right  of  suffrage ;  if,  after  being 
long  dumb  in  camp,  he  might  have  a  voice  in 
the  city;  if  he  were  executer  as  the  one,  of  the 
laws  he  would  be  making  as  the  other,  and  if, 
to  hide  the  blood  on  his  sword,  he  might  have 
the  toga. 

After  all,  it  is  not  impossible  that  this  may 
come  to  pass  some  day. 

Truly,  we  are  pitiless  to  Wish  that  &ne  man 
alone  should  be  strong  enough  to  answer  for 
[102] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


this  armed  nation  placed  in  his  hands.  It  is  a 
dangerous  thing  for  the  Governments  them- 
selves. For  the  present  organisation,  which 
hangs  thus  upon  one  single  finger  the  entire 
electric  chain  of  passive  obedience,  may  in  any 
given  case  make  the  complete  overthrow  of 
a  State  all  to  simple.  Any  half -formed  and 
half -recruited  revolution  would  have  only  to 
win  over  a  Minister  of  War  to  become  entirely 
full-fledged.  All  the  rest  would  follow  inevit- 
ably, according  to  our  laws,  without  one  single 
link  being  able  to  withdraw  itself  from  the  im- 
pulse emanating  from  on  high. 

No,  — and  I  call  to  witness  the  bursts  of 
outraged  conscience  of  any  man  who  has  seen 
or  who  has  caused  the  blood  of  his  fellow  citi- 
zens to  flow — one  head  is  not  enough  to  bear  so 
heavy  a  burden  as  that  of  so  many  murders. 
As  many  heads  as  combatants  would  be  none 
too  many.  To  be  responsible  for  the  blood  law 
they  execute  it  would  be  just  that  they  should 
at  least  fully  understand  it.  But  the  better 
institutions  invoked  here  would  themselves  be 
but  fleeting.  For,  once  again,  the  days  of  Ar- 
mies and  War  are  numbered.  Despite  the 
words  of  a  sophist  I  have  elsewhere  combated, 
it  is  not  true  that  war,  even  against  an  alien,  is 
[103] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

"divine."  It  is  not  true  that  *'the  earth  is 
avid  of  blood."  War  is  cursed  of  God  and  of 
the  men,  even,  who  wage  it  and  who  have  a 
secret  horror  of  it.  And  the  earth  cries  to 
heaven  only  to  ask  for  the  fresh  water  of  its 
rains  and  the  pure  dew  of  its  clouds. 

But  it  was  not  in  the  first  flush  of  my  youth 
given  over  wholly  to  action,  that  I  would  have 
been  able  to  ask  myself  if  there  were  no  modern 
countries  where  the  warrior  was  equal  to  the 
man  of  peace  and  not  a  man  set  apart  from  the 
family  and  placed  as  its  enemy.  I  did  not  look 
into  that  which  it  might  be  well  for  us  to  take 
from  the  ancients  on  this  point.  Many  projects 
for  a  more  sensible  organisation  of  the  Armies 
have  been  born  to  no  avail.  Far  from  putting 
any  of  them  into  practice,  or  even  showing 
them  the  light  of  day,  the  Power,  such  as  it 
was,  would  probably  always  keep  more  and 
more  aloof  from  them,  because  its  interest  lay 
in  surrounding  itself  with  gladiators  in  the 
ever  threatening  struggle.  Nevertheless  the 
thought  will  one  day  see  light  and  take  shape, 
just  as  does  any  necessary  thought  sooner  or 
later. 

In  the  present  state,  what  fine  sentiments 
are  we  preserving  that  might  grow  still  finer 
[104] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


by  the  sentiment  of  a  high  personal  dignity? 
I  have  gathered  many  examples  in  my  mem- 
ory. Around  me,  ready  to  supply  me  with 
them,  were  countless  intimate  friends,  so  gaily 
resigned  to  their  heedless  submission,  so  free- 
spirited  in  the  thraldom  of  their  bodies,  that 
this  heedlessness  won  me  over  for  a  moment, 
like  them.  And  with  it  came  the  perfect  seren- 
ity of  the  soldier  and  the  officer;  a  serenity 
which  is  precisely  that  of  the  horse  that  nobly 
measures  his  stride  between  the  bridle  and  the 
spur  and  that  is  proud  of  being  in  no  wise 
responsible. 

So  let  me  be  permitted  to  give  such  an  exam- 
ple in  the  simple  story  of  a  brave  man  and  a 
soldier's  family  of  which  I  caught  a  glimpse. 
An  example,  gentler  than  the  first,  of  these 
lifelong  resignations,  full  of  uprightness,  good 
nature  and  decency,  very  common  in  our  Army. 
The  sight  of  it  rests  the  spirit  when  one  looks 
at  the  same  time — as  I  did — ^into  the  world 
of  fashion,  from  where  one  steps  down  joyfully 
to  study  more  naive  customs,  old-fashioned 
though  they  be. 

Such  as  it  is,  the  Army  is  a  good  book  to 
open  to  know  humanity  better.  In  it  one 
may  learn  to  turn  one's  hand  to  anything,  to 
[105] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

the  lowliest  as  well  as  the  most  exalted  things. 
The  most  delicate  and  wealthy  are  compelled 
to  see  poverty  living  close  by  and  to  live  wath 
it,  to  measure  its  coarse  bread  and  to  weigh  its 
meat.  Without  the  Army  no  such  great  lord's 
son  would  suspect  how  a  soldier  lives,  grows, 
and  waxes  fat  all  year  on  nine  pence  a  day  and 
a  pitcher  of  fresh  water,  carrying  on  his  back 
a  knapsack  which,  contents  and  container,  has 
cost  his  country  forty  francs. 

This  simplicity  of  habits,  this  heedless  and 
joyous  poverty  of  so  many  young  men,  this 
rigorous  and  sane  existence  without  false  cour- 
tesy nor  false  sensitiveness,  this  manly  bearing 
given  to  all,  this  uniformity  of  mind  fashioned 
by  discipline,  are  coarse  ties  of  habit,  but  dif- 
ficult to  break  nor  lacking  in  a  certain  charm 
unknown  to  other  professions.  I  have  seen  of- 
ficers acquire  a  passion  for  this  existence  to 
such  a  point  that  they  were  unable  to  leave  it 
even  for  a  short  time  without  becoming  bored 
— not  even  to  return  to  the  most  elegant  and 
cherished  customs  of  their  lives.  The  regi- 
ments are  men's  convents,  but  nomadic  con- 
vents. Everywhere  they  carry  their  customs 
stamped  with  seriousness,  silence  and  restraint. 
[106] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


The  vows  of  poverty  and  obedience  are  here 
indeed  fulfilled. 

The  character  of  these  recluses  is  as  ineradi- 
cable as  that  of  monks.  I  have  never  seen  the 
uniform  of  one  of  my  regiments  without  feel- 
ing my  heart  throb. 


[107J 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  SCRUPLES  OF  HONOUR  OF  A  SOLDIER 

One  evening  in  the  summer  of  1819,  I  was 
walking  inside  the  fortress  of  Vineennes,  where 
I  was  stationed,  with  Timoleon  d'Are,  a  lieu- 
tenant of  the  Guard  like  myself.  We  had  ta- 
ken the  customary  polygon  walk,  attended  the 
ricochet  shooting,  peacefully  listened  to  and 
told  stories  of  war,  discussed  the  Polytech- 
nic School,  its  formation,  its  utility,  its  faults, 
as  well  as  the  sallow-complexioned  men  who 
had  sprung  from  that  geometric  soil.  The 
characteristic  of  the  school  sat  upon  Timo- 
leon's  brow  too.  Those  who  knew  him  will  re- 
call, like  me,  his  regular,  somewhat  emaciated, 
face,  his  big  black  eyes  with  the  arched  eye- 
brows over  them,  and  the  sweet,  rarely  troubled 
seriousness  of  his  Spartan  countenance. 

That  evening  he  was  very  much  preoccu- 
pied by  our  endless  conversation  upon  the  La- 
place system  of  probabilities.  I  remember  he 
[108] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 

carried  the  book  under  his  arm,  that  work  which 
we  held  in  great  esteem  and  over  which  he  was 
frequently  tormented. 

Night  fell,  or  rather  spread  itself  about  us. 
A  fine  August  night.  I  looked  with  pleasure 
at  the  chapel  built  by  Saint  Louis  and  at  that 
crown  of  mossy,  half -ruined  towers  which  were 
the  adornment  of  Vincennes  at  that  time.  The 
donjon  rose  above  them  like  a  king  amidst  his 
guards.  The  little  crescents  of  the  chapel 
glowed  among  the  first  stars,  at  the  end  of  their 
long  spires.  The  fresh,  mellow  odour  of  the 
woods  came  to  us  across  the  ramparts,  and 
nothing  down  to  the  lawns  of  the  batteries  but 
breathed  the  fragrance  of  a  summer's  eve. 

We  sat  down  on  one  of  the  Louis  XIV  big 
guns  and  silently  watched  some  young  soldiers 
testing  their  strength  by  lifting  each  in  turn  a 
bomb  at  arm's  length,  while  the  others  slowly 
crossed  the  drawbridge  by  twos  or  by  fours, 
with  all  the  languor  of  military  idleness.  The 
courts  were  filled  with  artillery  caissons,  open 
and  loaded  with  powder,  all  ready  for  to-mor- 
row's review. 

Beside  us,  near  the  gate  to  the  boiSj  an  old 
artillery  Adjutant  kept  opening  and  closing 
the  small  door  of  a  little  tower.  It  was  a  pow- 
[109] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

derhouse  and  arsenal  belonging  to  the  foot- 
artillery,  filled  with  powder-kegs,  arms  and 
munitions  of  war.  He  saluted  us  in  passing. 
He  was  a  tall  fellow,  but  a  little  stooped.  His 
hair  was  sparse  and  white,  his  moustache  white 
and  thick.  His  looks  were  frank,  robust  and 
still  fresh,  happy,  mild  and  content. 

He  held  three  big  account  books  in  his  hand, 
on  which  he  was  checking  long  columns  of  fig- 
ures. We  asked  him  why  he  worked  so  late, 
contrary  to  his  custom.  He  answered  in  the 
respectful,  serene  voice  habitual  to  old  soldiers 
that  the  next  day  would  be  general  inspection 
day,  at  five  in  the  morning.  He  was  responsi- 
ble for  the  powder  and  would  not  stop  examin- 
ing it,  and  going  over  his  figures  twenty  times, 
so  as  to  guard  against  the  slightest  reproach  of 
negligence.  He  had  wanted  to  take  advantage 
of  the  last  glimmer  of  daylight,  too,  because 
orders  were  rigid  and  forbade  entering  the 
powderhouse  at  night  with  a  torch  or  even  with 
a  dark  lantern.  He  regretted  not  having  had 
time  to  look  over  everything;  he  still  had  to  ex- 
amine a  few  shells.  He  wished  very  much  he 
could  come  back  at  night  and  he  looked  a  little 
impatiently  at  the  grenadier,  who  had  been  put 
[110] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


on  sentry  duty  at  the  door  and  who  was  there 
to  prevent  him  from  re-entering  it. 

After  having  given  us  these  details  he  knelt 
down  and  looked  under  the  door  to  see  that  not 
a  speck  of  powder  remained.  He  feared  lest 
the  spurs  or  the  steel  on  the  officers'  boots 
might  ignite  it  and  cause  fire  on  the  morrow. 

"That  is  not  what  bothers  me  most,"  he  said, 
getting  up  again.  "It's  my  books."  And  he 
gazed  at  them  regretfully. 

"You  are  too  scrupulous,"  said  Timoleon. 

"Ah!  Lieutenant,  when  in  the  Guards  one 
cannot  be  too  much  so  of  his  honour.  One  of 
our  sergeants  blew  out  his  brains  last  Monday 
for  having  been  put  in  the  guard-house.  I  have 
to  set  the  example  to  the  non-commissioned 
officers.  Since  I  have  served  in  the  Guards, 
I  have  not  had  one  reproach  from  my  superiors 
and  punishment  would  make  me  very  miser- 
able." 

It  is  true  that  these  brave  soldiers  chosen 
from  among  the  flower  of  the  army  believed 
themselves  dishonoured  for  the  slightest  fault. 

"Go  on  with  you,  you  are  all  puritans  for 
honour,"  I  told  him,  patting  him  on  the  shoul- 
der. 

He  saluted  and  withdrew  towards  the  bar- 

[111] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

racks  where  he  was  quartered.  Then,  with  a 
naivete  of  manners  pecuhar  to  the  honest  sol- 
dier breed,  he  came  back  to  bring  a  handful  of 
hempseed  to  a  hen  that  was  raising  her  twelve 
chicks  under  the  old  bronze  cannon  on  which 
we  were  seated. 

She  was  really  the  most  charming  hen  I  had 
ever  known  in  my  life.  She  was  all  white  with- 
out a  single  spot.  And  this  good  fellow,  with 
his  big  fingers  that  had  been  mutilated  at  Ma- 
rengo and  Austerlitz,  had  pasted  a  little  red 
plume  on  her  head  and  put  a  little  silver  neck- 
lace with  a  number  plate  on  her  breast.  The 
good  hen  was  proud  of  it  and  grateful,  too. 
She  knew  that  the  sentries  always  saw  to  her 
being  treated  with  due  respect.  So  she  was 
afraid  of  nobody,  not  even  of  a  little  suckling 
pig  or  a  screech-owl  that  had  been  quartered 
near  her  under  the  next  cannon. 

The  beautiful  hen  was  the  joy  of  the  gun- 
ners. From  all  of  us  she  received  crumbs  of 
bread  and  sugar  while  we  were  in  uniform. 
But  she  had  a  horror  of  civilian  dress  and,  not 
recognising  us  in  that  disguise,  she  would  run 
from  us  with  her  brood  to  hide  under  the  gun 
of  Louis  XIV.  A  magnificent  gun  it  was, 
with  the  eternal  sun  engraved  on  it  and  the 
[112] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


mottoes  ''Nee  pluribus  imparf  and  ''Ultima 
ratio  Begum"    And  it  harboured  a  hen ! 

The  good  Adjutant  spoke  of  her  in  endear- 
ing terms.  She  supplied  fresh  eggs  to  him  and 
his  daughter  with  unparalleled  generosity. 
And  he  loved  her  so  much  that  he  had  not  had 
the  heart  to  kill  a  single  one  of  her  chicks  for 
fear  of  grieving  her.  While  he  was  telling  us 
of  her,  the  drums  and  bugles  started  to  sound 
the  evening  roll-call.  The  bridges  were  raised 
and  the  keepers  made  the  chains  rattle.  We 
were  not  on  duty  and  we  went  out  by  the  gate 
into  the  hois,  Timoleon,  who  had  not  stopped 
drawing  angles  on  the  sand  with  the  tip  of  his 
sword,  had  got  up  from  the  cannon  and  re- 
gretted his  triangle  as  much  as  I  regretted  my 
white  hen  and  my  Adjutant. 

We  turned  to  the  left  and  followed  the  ram- 
parts, and  passing  thus  the  green  mound 
raised  to  the  Duke  d'Enghien  above  his  bullet- 
riddled  body  and  his  head  that  was  crushed 
with  a  flagstone.  We  bordered  the  moats  and 
gazed  at  the  little  white  path  he  had  followed 
to  arrive  at  his  grave. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  men  who  can  walk 
together  for  five  hours  at  a  stretch  without  talk- 
ing. They  are  prisoners  and  ofiicers.  Con- 
[113] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

demned  to  see  each  other  all  the  time,  when  all 
together  each  one  is  alone.  We  went  on  in  si- 
lence, arms  behind  our  backs. 

By  the  light  of  the  moon  I  remarked  that 
Timoleon  ceaselessly  fingered  a  letter.  It  was 
a  small  letter  of  long,  narrow  size.  I  knew 
both  its  shape  and  its  feminine  author  and  I 
was  used  to  seeing  him  dream  a  whole  day  over 
this  fine,  small  and  elegant  handwriting. 

And  so  we  reached  the  village  in  front  of 
the  castle.  We  climbed  the  steps  to  our  little 
white  house.  We  were  about  to  part  on  the 
landing  before  our  adjoining  apartments  and 
I  had  not  said  a  word.  Only  there  did  he  sud- 
denly speak  to  me : 

"She  absolutely  wants  me  to  tender  my 
resignation.    What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"I  think,"  I  said,  "that  she  is  beautiful  as  an 
angel,  because  I  have  seen  her.  I  think  you 
adore  her  like  a  madman,  because  for  two  years 
I  have  seen  you  just  as  you  have  been  this 
evening.  I  think  that  you  have  a  quite  com- 
fortable fortune,  judging  by  your  horses  and 
your  retinue.  I  think  that  you  have  made  a 
fine  enough  record  to  retire  and  that  in  peace 
times  it  is  no  great  sacrifice.    But  I  also  think 

of  one  single  thing " 

[114] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


"What?"  he  asked,  smiling  a  little  bitterly 
because  he  guessed. 

''She  is  married,"  I  answered  more  seriously. 
"And  you  know  it  better  than  I  do,  my  poor 
friend " 

"It's  true,"  he  said,  "there  is  no  future." 

"And  the  service  helps  you  to  forget  that 
sometimes,"  I  added. 

"Perhaps,"  he  returned.  "But  it  is  not  likely 
that  my  star  should  change  in  the  Army.  Mark 
that  in  my  life  I  have  never  done  anything 
good  that  has  not  remained  unknown  or  been 
misinterpreted." 

"Even  if  you  will  read  Laplace  every  night 
that  won't  find  a  remedy  for  it,"  I  said. 

And  I  locked  myself  into  my  room  to  write 
a  poem  on  the  Iron  Mask,  which  I  called  "The 
Prison." 


[115] 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  LOVE  OF  DANGEE 

Isolation  can  not  be  too  complete  for  men 
that  are  pursued,  by  I  don't  know  what  demon, 
with  poetic  illusions. 

The  silence  was  deep,  and  the  shadows  lay 
thick  upon  the  towers  of  old  Vincennes.  The 
garrison  had  been  asleep  since  nine  in  the  eve- 
ning. All  lights  were  put  out  at  ten  by  order 
of  the  drums.  The  only  sounds  to  be  heard 
were  the  voices  of  the  sentries  stationed  on  the 
ramparts,  sending  and  repeating  one  after  an- 
other their  long  and  melancholy  cry :  "Sentry, 
watch  out!" 

The  crows  in  the  towers  responded  more 
sadly  yet  and,  believing  themselves  no  longer 
secure,  flew  higher  up  to  the  donjon.  Nothing 
further  could  disturb  me.  And  yet  something 
did  disturb  me,  which  was  neither  noise  nor 
light.  I  wanted  to,  and  could  not,  write.  I 
felt  something  in  my  thoughts,  like  a  flaw  in  an 
[116] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


emerald.  It  was  the  idea  that  some  one  near 
me  was  awake,  too,  sleepless,  restless,  and 
deeply  tormented.   That  troubled  me. 

I  was  sure  that  he  had  need  of  confiding 
himself  and  I  had  brusquely  fled  his  confidences 
in  the  desire  to  give  myself  to  my  favourite 
thoughts.  Now  I  was  punished  for  it  by  the 
confusion  of  these  very  thoughts.  They  would 
not  fly  freely  and  broadly.  And  it  seemed 
to  me  that  their  wings  were  weighted,  drenched 
perhaps  by  a  secret  tear  of  a  forsaken  friend. 

I  rose  from  my  armchair.  I  opened  the 
window  and  began  breathing  the  fragrant 
night  air.  A  forest  odour  came  to  me  over  the 
walls,  mixed  a  little  with  a  faint  smell  of  pow- 
der. That  reminded  me  of  the  volcano  over 
which  three  thousand  men  lived  and  slept  in 
perfect  security.  On  the  great  wall  of  the  for- 
tress, separated  from  the  village  by  a  road 
forty  paces  wide  at  most,  I  perceived  a  light 
cast  by  the  lamp  of  my  young  neighbour.  His 
shadow  passed  and  repassed  on  the  wall,  and 
by  his  epaulettes  I  could  see  that  he  had  not 
even  thought  of  retiring. 

It  was  midnight.  I  left  my  room  brusquely 
and  entered  his.  He  was  not  at  all  surprised 
to  see  me  and  said  at  once  that,  if  he  was  still 
[117] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

up,  it  was  to  finish  reading  Xenophon  which 
interested  him  very  much.  But,  as  there  was 
not  a  single  open  book  in  his  room,  and  he  still 
held  his  lady's  little  letter  in  his  hand,  I  was 
not  his  dupe.  But  I  pretended  to  be.  We 
went  over  to  the  window  and,  trying  to  bring 
his  ideas  and  mine  together,  I  said  to  him: 

"I,  too,  was  at  work,  and  I  was  trying  to 
account  for  this  sort  of  magnet  that  we  find 
in  the  steel  of  a  sword.  It  is  an  irresistible 
attraction  that  keeps  us  in  the  service  in  spite 
of  ourselves  and  makes  us  wait  all  the  time  for 
something  to  happen  or  for  a  war.  I  don't 
know  (and  that's  what  I  came  to  talk  to  you 
about)  it  would  not  be  true  to  say  and  write 
that  there  lurks  a  passion  in  the  Armies  which 
is  peculiar  to  them  and  gives  them  life.  A  pas- 
sion which  has  nothing  to  do  with  love  or  glory 
or  ambition.  It  is  a  sort  of  man  to  man  fight 
with  destiny,  a  struggle  which  is  the  source  of 
a  thousand  delights  unknown  to  the  rest  of 
mankind,  and  the  inside  triumphs  of  which  are 
filled  with  magnificence.  In  short,  it  is  the 
love  of  danger!" 

"That  is  true,"  said  Timoleon.    I  continued: 
"What  could  it  be  that  keeps  the  sailor  at 
sea?    What  would  console  him  in  this  boredom 
[118] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


of  man  seeing  nothing  but  men?  He  leaves 
and  bids  the  land  farewell.  Farewell  to  wom- 
en's smiles,  farewell  to  their  love.  Farewell  to 
chosen  friendships  and  the  soft  usages  of  life. 
Farewell  to  kind,  old  parents.  Farewell  to 
friendly  Nature,  to  fields  and  trees  and  lawns, 
and  pleasant  scented  flowers,  to  sombre  rocks, 
to  melancholy  woods  full  of  silent  wild  ani- 
mals. Farewell  to  the  big  cities,  to  the  per- 
petual works  of  the  arts,  to  the  sublime  agita- 
tion of  all  the  thoughts  in  life's  idle  hours,  to 
the  elegant,  mysterious  and  passionate  rela- 
tions of  the  world.  He  bids  good-bye  to  every- 
thing, and  leaves.  He  goes  to  meet  three 
enemies: — water,  wind  and  man!  And  every 
minute  of  his  life  brings  combat  with  one  of 
them.  This  magnificent  uneasiness  delivers 
him  from  boredom.  He  lives  in  perpetual  vic- 
tory. It  is  a  victory  in  itself  to  cross  the  ocean, 
and  not  to  be  swallowed  up,  foundering.  It  is 
one  to  go  where  he  wills  and  to  plunge  into 
the  arms  of  adverse  winds.  It  is  one  to  run 
before  the  storm  and  to  make  it  follow  after 
like  a  valet.  It  is  one  to  sleep  at  sea  and  to 
build  his  study  room  upon  it.  He  goes  to  bed, 
with  the  sense  of  his  kingship,  on  the  back  of 
the  ocean,  like  Saint  Jerome  on  his  lion,  and 
[119] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

enjoys  the  solitude,  which  is  at  the  same  time 
his  spouse." 

"It  is  wonderful,"  said  Timoleon.  And  1 
noticed  that  he  put  the  letter  down  on  the 
table. 

*'And  it  is  love  of  danger  that  nurtures  him, 
that  causes  him  never  to  be  discouraged  an  in- 
stant, to  feel  himself  a  combatant  with  an  end 
in  view.  We  always  need  a  struggle.  If  we 
were  on  a  campaign,  you  would  not  suffer  so 
much." 

**Who  knows?"  he  replied, 

**You  are  as  happy  as  you  can  be.  You  can- 
not progress  in  your  happiness.  That  kind  of 
happiness  is  a  veritable  deadlock." 

*  Too  true!  Too  true!"  I  heard  him  mur- 
muring. 

"You  can't  get  away  from  the  fact  that  she 
has  a  young  husband  and  a  child,  and  you  can 
gain  no  greater  liberty  than  you  already  have. 
Therein  lies  your  torment!" 

He  wrung  my  hand:  "And  always  be  ob- 
liged to  lie,"  he  added,  "Do  you  believe  we 
will  have  a  war?" 

"I  don't  believe  it  at  all,"  I  answered. 

"If  I  only  knew  whether  she  is  at  the  ball 
[120] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


to-night!    I  had  particularly  forbidden  her  to 
go." 

"I  would  have  noticed  very  well  that  it  is 
midnight,  without  your  saying  that,"  I  told 
him.  "You  have  no  need  of  Austerlitz,  my 
friend;  you  are  sufficiently  busy.  You  will 
have  to  dissemble  and  lie  for  several  years  to 
come.    Good-night." 


[121] 


CHAPTJEIR  IV 

THE  FAMILY  CONCERT 

IWhen  I  was  leaving  to  retire,  I  stopped, 
my  hand  on  his  doorknob.  I  was  amazed  to 
hear  music  quite  near  by,  coming  from  the 
castle  itself.  Listening  at  the  window  it  seemed 
to  us  that  it  was  made  by  two  men's  voices,  a 
woman's  voice  and  a  piano.  For  me  it  was  a 
sweet  surprise  at  that  hour  of  the  night. 

I  proposed  to  my  comrade  that  we  go  and 
listen  to  it  closer  by.  The  small  draw-bridge, 
parallel  to  the  big  one,  and  meant  to  let  the 
governor  and  the  officers  pass  during  a  part  of 
the  night,  was  still  down.  We  re-entered  the 
fortress  and,  roaming  through  the  courts,  we 
were  guided  by  the  sound  beneath  the  open 
windows  I  recognised  as  those  of  the  good  old 
artillery  Adjutant. 

Those  big  windows  were  on  the  ground  floor 
and  stopping  in  front  of  them  we  discovered, 
at  the  back  of  the  room,  the  simple  family  of 
that  honest  soldier. 

[122] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


At  one  end  of  the  room  stood  a  small  ma- 
hogany piano,  with  old*  brass  ornaments.  The 
Adjutant  (quite  old  and  modest  as  he  had 
seemed  to  us  at  first)  was  sitting  at  the  piano 
and  playing  a  sequence  of  chord  accompani- 
ments and  simple  modulations,  but  all  har- 
moniously linked  together.  His  eyes  looked 
upward,  and  he  had  no  music  before  him.  His 
mouth  was  half  open  with  delight  under  his 
long,  thick  white  moustache.  His  daughter 
stood  at  his  right,  and  was  just  going  to  sing 
or  had  just  been  interrupted.  For  she  looked 
at  him  anxiously,  her  mouth  still  half  open, 
like  himself.  To  his  left,  a  young  sergeant  of 
the  light  artillery  of  the  guard,  dressed  in  the 
severe  uniform  of  that  fine  corps,  stood  look- 
ing at  this  young  woman  as  if  he  had  not  yet 
stopped  listening  to  her. 

Nothing  so  serene  as  their  attitudes,  nothing 
so  decorous  as  their  bearing,  nothing  so  happy 
as  their  faces.  The  rays  that  fell  from  above 
upon  these  three  foreheads  did  not  light  a 
careworn  expression  there.  And  the  finger  of 
God  had  written  nothing  there  save  goodness, 
love  and  modesty. 

The  clink  of  our  swords  against  the  wall 
warned  them  of  our  presence.  The  good  man 
[123] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

saw  us  and  his  bald  forehead  reddened  with 
surprise,  and  I  think  too,  with  satisfaction. 
He  rose  hastily  and  taking  one  of  the  three 
candelabra  that  lighted  him,  came  to  open  the 
door  for  us  and  made  us  sit  down.  We  begged 
him  to  continue  his  family  concert.  And  with 
a  noble  simplicity,  without  excusing  himself 
or  asking  for  our  indulgence,  he  said  to  his 
children: 

"Where  were  we?" 

And  the  three  voices  rose  in  chorus  in  inex- 
pressible harmony. 

Timoleon  listened  and  remained  motionless. 
As  for  myself,  shielding  my  head  and  my  eyes, 
I  began  to  dream  with  an  emotion  which  was 
sad,  I  don't  know  why.  Their  singing  carried 
my  spirit  into  regions  of  tears  and  sweet  melan- 
choly. And  pursued,  perhaps,  by  the  impor- 
tunate thought  of  my  evening's  work,  I 
changed  into  shifting  images  the  shifting 
modulations  of  the  voices. 

They  were  singing  one  of  those  Scotch 
choruses,  one  of  the  ancient  melodies  of  the 
bards  which  the  clear  echoes  of  the  Orkneys 
still  carry.  For  me  this  melancholy  chorus 
rose  slowly  and  vanished  suddenly  like  the 
mists  of  the  mountains  of  Ossian.  Those 
[124] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


mists  that  form  on  the  foaming  froth  of  the 
torrents  of  Arven,  thickening  slowly,  billow- 
ing and  growing  as  they  rise  with  a  countless 
mass  of  tortured  phantoms  tattered  by  the 
winds.  They  are  warriors  forever  dreaming, 
helmet  in  hand,  whose  tears  and  blood  fall 
drop  by  drop  in  the  black  waters  of  the  rocks. 

They  are  pallid  beauties  whose  hair  flows  out 
behind  like  the  rays  of  a  faraway  comet,  and 
melt  on  the  moist  breast  of  the  moon.  They 
pass  quickly  and  their  feet  disappear  wrapped 
in  the  vaporous  folds  of  their  white  robes. 
They  have  no  wings,  yet  they  fly.  They  fly 
holding  harps.  They  fly  with  lowered  eyes  and 
mouth  half  opened,  innocently.  They  utter  a 
cry  in  passing  and  are  lost  as  they  rise  into 
the  soft  light  that  beckons  them. 

They  are  aerial  ships  that  seem  to  pound  on 
dark  coasts  and  plunge  into  thick  waves.  The 
mountains  bend  to  weep  over  them  and  the 
black  mastiifs  raise  their  deformed  heads  and 
howl  a  long  time  as  they  look  at  the  disk  that 
trembles  in  the  sky,  while  the  sea  shakes  the 
white  columns  of  the  Orkneys  that  are  ranged 
like  the  pipes  of  a  giant  organ  and  that  pour 
over  the  ocean  a  piercing  harmony,  prolonged 
[125] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

a  thousandfold  in  the  cavern  in  which  the  waves 
are  imprisoned. 

Thus  the  music  translated  itself  into  sombre 
images  in  my  soul  which,  still  very  young,  was 
open  to  all  sympathies  and  as  though  in  love 
with  its  imaginary  sorrows. 

In  truth,  to  feel  them  in  this  way  was  to  re- 
turn to  the  thought  of  him  who  had  invented 
these  sad  and  powerful  songs.  The  happy 
family  even  experienced  the  strong  emotion 
they  imparted,  and  a  deep  vibration  at  times 
made  the  three  voices  shake. 

The  singing  stopped  and  a  long  silence  fol- 
lowed. The  young  woman  leaned  on  her 
father's  shoulder,  as  if  tired.  She  was  tall  and 
a  little  bowed  as  if  with  weakness.  She  was 
thin  and  seemed  to  have  grown  too  rapidly, 
and  her  chest,  a  little  emaciated,  seemed  to  have 
been  affected  by  it.  She  kissed  the  bald,  broad 
and  wrinkled  forehead  of  her  father  and 
yielded  her  hand  to  the  young  sergeant  who 
pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

As  I  was  particularly  anxious  not  to  show 
my  inward  musings  I  contented  myself  with 
saying  coldly,  and  abstrusely : 

"May  Heaven  grant  long  days  and  all  man- 
ner of  blessings  to  them  that  have  the  gift  of 
[126] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


rendering  music  literally!  I  cannot  admire 
enough  the  man  who  finds  in  one  symphony 
the  fault  of  its  being  too  Cartesian,  and  in  an- 
other that  of  leaning  towards  the  system  of 
Spinosa,  ^ho  waxes  eloquent  over  the  pan- 
theism of  a  trio,  and  the  utility  of  an  overture 
for  the  betterment  of  the  masses.  If  I  were 
lucky  enough  to  know  why  one  flat  more  or  less 
on  the  staff  can  make  a  quartet  for  flute  and 
bassoon  more  partisan  of  the  Directoire  than 
of  the  Consulate  or  the  Empire,  I  would  cease 
talking — I  would  sing  eternally :  I  would  crush 
beneath  my  feet  words  and  phrases  which  at 
the  most  are  good  for  some  hundred  districts 
— ^while  I  should  have  the  good  fortune  to 
transmit  my  ideas  most  clearly  to  the  entire 
universe,  thanks  to  my  seven  notes;  but  de- 
prived as  I  am  of  this  science,  my  musical  con- 
versation would  be  so  limited  that  the  only 
thing  left  for  me  to  do  is  to  express  to  you,  in 
our  common  tongue,  the  satisfaction  that  the 
sight  of  your  person  procures  me,  and  the 
spectacle  of  the  perfect  though  simple  harmony 
which  reigns  in  your  midst.  It  is  marked  to 
such  a  degree  that  what  pleases  me  most  about 
your  little  concert  is  the  pleasure  you  take  in 
it  yourselves.  Your  spirits  seem  more  beauti- 
[127] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

f ul  to  me  than  the  most  beautiful  music  heaven 
has  ever  heard  rising  to  it  from  our  miserable 
and  forever  groaning  earth." 

Effusively  I  gave  my  hand  to  the  good 
father  and  he  shook  it  with  an  expression  of 
grave  thankfulness.  He  was  only  an  old  sol- 
dier. But  in  his  speech  and  his  manner  there 
was  I  don't  know  what  of  the  old  amenities  of 
the  world.    The  following  explained  it  to  me. 

"This,  Lieutenant,"  he  said  to  me,  "is  the 
life  we  lead  here.  We  sing  for  a  rest,  my 
daughter,  myself  and  my  future  son-in-law." 

He  gazed  at  the  splendid  young  people  with 
a  tenderness  all  radiant  with  happiness. 

"Here,"  he  added  in  a  more  serious  manner, 
pointing  out  a  small  portrait,  "my  daughter's 
mother." 

We  looked  towards  the  whitewashed  wall  of 
the  modest  room,  and  there  we  saw  a  miniature 
which  represented  truly  the  most  graceful  and 
fresh  little  peasant  girl  Greuze  had  ever  en- 
dowed with  big  blue  eyes  and  cherry  lips. 

"It  was  a  very  great  lady  who  was  good 
enough  once  to  paint  that  portrait,"  the  Ad- 
jutant told  me,  "and  it  has  quite  a  curious 
history,  this  wedding  dowry  of  my  poor  little 
wife." 

[128] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


And  yielding  to  our  long  entreaties  to  tell 
of  his  marriage,  he  gave  us  this  account  over 
three  glasses  of  green  absinth  which  he  took 
pains  to  offer  us  as  a  ceremonious  preliminary. 


[129] 


CHAPTER  V 

HISTORY  OF  THE  ADJUTANT ;  THE  CHILDEEN  OF 
MONTREUIL  AND  THE  MASON 

You  must  know,  Lieutenant,  that  I  was 
raised  in  the  village  of  Montreuil  by  the  curate 
of  Montreuil  himself.  He  had  made  me  learn 
a  few  notes  of  plain  song  during  the  happiest 
time  of  my  life:  the  time  when  I  was  a  choir 
boy,  when  I  had  big,  fat,  pudgy  cheeks  that 
everybody  pinched  in  passing,  and  a  clear 
voice,  blond  hair,  a  blouse  and  wooden  shoes. 
I  don't  look  at  myself  often  but  I  fancy  I 
hardly  look  much  like  that  now. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  thus  I  used  to  be,  and  I 
could  not  be  got  away  from  a  kind  of  wheezy 
harpsichord  the  priest  had  in  his  home.  I 
tuned  it  with  quite  a  true  ear,  and  the  good 
Father  who  had  once  been  noted  at  Notre 
Dame  for  his  singing  and  teaching  of  the 
fatuc-bourdon  made  me  learn  an  ancient  sol- 
feggio. When  he  was  pleased  with  me  he 
[130] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


M  ould  pinch  my  cheeks  until  they  were  blue, 
and  would  say  to  me : 

— "Look  here,  Mathurin,  you  are  only  the 
son  of  a  peasant  couple,  but  if  you  know  your 
catechism  and  your  solfeggio  well,  and  you 
stop  playing  with  the  rusty  rifle  in  the  house,  a 
music  master  might  be  made  of  you.  Keep  at 
it,  mj  lad." 

That  gave  me  good  heart  and  I  banged 
away  on  the  poor  keyboard  whose  sharps  were 
almost  all  mute ! 

At  certain  hours  I  was  allowed  to  run  and 
play.  But  the  pleasantest  recreation  was  to  go 
and  sit  at  the  end  of  the  park  of  Montreuil 
and  eat  my  bread  with  the  masons  and  work- 
men that  were  busy  building  a  small  music 
pavilion  for  the  Queen,  on  the  Avenue  de  Ver- 
sailles, a  hundred  paces  from  the  barrier. 

A  charming  spot  it  was  that  you  may  see 
on  the  right  of  the  road  going  to  Versailles. 
At  the  farthest  end  of  the  park  of  Montreuil, 
in  the  middle  of  a  lawn  surrounded  by  big 
trees,  if  you  will  notice  a  pavilion  that  looks 
like  a  mosque  and  a  bonbonniere,  it  is  that 
which  I  went  to  watch  building. 

I  used  to  go  hand  in  hand  with  a  little  girl 
of  my  own  age,  Pierrette  by  name.  The 
[131] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

priest  used  to  make  her  sing,  too,  because  she 
had  a  fine  voice.  She  would  take  along  a  big 
slice  of  bread  and  jam  given  her  by  her  mother, ' 
the  priest's  servant,  and  together  we  would  go 
to  watch  the  building  of  the  little  house  the 
Queen  was  having  made  as  a  gift  to  the  Prin- 
cess Royal. 

Pierrette  and  I  were  about  thirteen  years 
old.  She  was  already  so  pretty  that  people 
would  stop  her  on  the  road  to  pay  her  compli- 
ments, and  I  have  seen  fine  ladies  step  from' 
their  coaches  to  talk  to  her  and  kiss  her !  When 
she  had  on  a  red  frock  drawn  up  at  the  pockets 
and  tight  in  the  waist,  it  was  easy  to  see  what  - 
a  beauty  she  would  be  some  day.  She  never 
gave  it  a  thought,  though,  and  she  loved  me 
like  a  brother. 

We  had  always  gone  out  hand  in  hand  since 
we  were  little  children,  a  custom  that  became 
so  natural,  that  all  my  life  I  never  gave  her 
my  arm.  Our  habit  of  going  to  visit  the  work- 
men made  us  the  acquaintance  of  a  young 
stone-cutter,  older  than  we  by  some  eight  or 
ten  years.  He  used  to  make  us  sit  down  on  a 
stone  or  on  the  ground  beside  him  and  when 
he  would  have  a  big  stone  to  cut,  Pierrette 
would  throw  water  on  his  saw,  and  I  would 
[132] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


take  hold  of  the  other  end  to  help  him.  And 
so  he  became  my  best  friend  in  the  world. 

He  was  a  most  peaceable  character,  very- 
quiet,  sometimes  a  little  jolly,  but  that  very 
rarely.  He  composed  a  little  song  on  the 
stones  he  cut,  on  their  being  harder  than  the 
heart  of  Pierrette.  And  he  played  with  a  thou- 
sand variations  on  these  words  Pierre,  Pier- 
rette, Pierrerie,  Pierrier  and  Pierrot — and  it 
made  us  laugh  all  three.  He  was  a  big  fel- 
low and  still  growing,  quite  pale  and  awkward, 
with  long  arms  and  long  legs.  Sometimes  he 
seemed  not  to  be  thinking  of  what  he  was  do- 
ing. He  liked  his  trade,  he  said,  because  he 
could  earn  his  day's  wages  conscientiously, 
while  having  thought  of  other  matters  till  sun- 
down. 

His  father,  an  architect,  had  ruined  himself 
so  thoroughly,  how  I  don't  know,  that  the  son 
had  to  start  at  the  bottom,  and  he  had  very 
serenely  resigned  himself  to  it.  When  he  was 
cutting  a  big  block,  or  sawing  it  lengthwise, 
he  would  always  start  a  little  song  in  which 
there  would  be  a  complete  little  story  that  he 
built  up  as  he  went  along,  for  twenty  or  thirty 
verses,  more  or  less. 

Sometimes  he  would  tell  me  to  walk  ahead 
[133] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

with  Pierrette  and  he  made  us  sing  together, 
teaching  us  to  sing  in  duo.  Then  he  would 
amuse  himself  with  making  me  kneel  before 
Pierrette,  my  hand  on  my  heart,  and,  compos- 
ing the  words  to  a  little  scene,  he  would  make 
us  repeat  it  after  him. 

All  that  did  not  prevent  him  from  being 
good  at  his  trade,  for  in  less  than  a  year  he  was 
a  master  mason.  With  his  hod  and  his  trowel 
he  had  to  support  his  poor  mother  and  two 
little  brothers  who  used  to  come  with  us  to  see 
him  work.  When  he  saw  all  his  little  world 
around  him,  it  would  give  him  courage  and 
good  cheer. 

We  called  him  Michel.  But  to  tell  you  the 
truth  at  once,  his  name  was  Michel-Jean 
Sedaine. 


[134] 


CHAPTER  VI 
A  PASSING  SIGH 

"Alas!"  I  said,  "there  was  a  poet  in  the  right 
place." 

The  young  woman  and  the  sergeant  looked 
at  each  other,  as  if  distressed  to  see  their  good 
father  interrupted.  But  the  worthy  Adjutant 
resumed  his  story,  after  having  tucked  up  on 
either  side  the  black  cravat  he  wore,  doubled 
over  a  white  one,  tied  military  fashion. 


[135] 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  ROSE  LADY 

"It  seems  to  me  very  certain,  my  dear  chil- 
dren," he  said,  turning  to  his  daughter,  "that 
Providence  has  deigned  to  take  care  in  ordain- 
ing my  hf  e  the  way  it  has  been.  In  the  count- 
less storms  that  have  disturbed  it,  I  may  say 
in  the  face  of  all  the  world,  that  I  have  never 
failed  to  trust  in  God  and  await  His  help, 
after  having  helped  myself  with  all  my  might. 
And  so  I  can  tell  you  that  walking  on  troubled 
waters  I  have  never  deserved  being  called 
'man  of  little  faith'  as  was  the  Apostle.  And 
when  my  feet  sank  I  lifted  up  my  eyes,  and  I 
was  succoured." 

(Here  I  glanced  at  Timoleon.  "He  is  a 
better  man  than  we,"  said  I  very  softly.)  He 
continued : 

The  curate  of  Montreuil  was  very  fond  of 
me.    He  treated  me  with  such  paternal  f riend- 
[136] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


ship,  that  in  spite  of  his  recalling  them  fre- 
quently, I  quite  forgot  that  I  sprang  from 
humble  peasants  who  both  had  been  carried 
away  by  smallpox  almost  at  the  same  time,  and 
whom  I  had  never  seen.  At  sixteen  I  was 
uncouth  and  stupid  but  I  knew  a  bit  of  Latin, 
a  lot  of  music,  and  I  was  quite  handy  at  all 
manner  of  garden  work.  My  life  was  very 
pleasant  and  very  happy,  because  Pierrette  was 
always  with  me,  and  I  was  always  gazing  at 
her  when  working,  though  I  did  not  have  much 
to  say  to  her. 

One  day  when  I  was  pruning  one  of  the 
beeches  in  the  park  and  tying  up  a  small  bundle 
of  sticks,  Pierrette  said  to  me : 

— "Oh!  Mathurin,  I  am  frightened.  There 
are  two  beautiful  ladies  coming  toward  us  from 
the  end  of  the  lane.  What  are  we  going  to 
do?" 

I  looked,  and  actually  saw  two  young  ladies 
walking  swiftly  on  the  dry  leaves,  and  who  did 
not  go  arm  in  arm.  One  was  a  bit  taller  than 
the  other,  and  dressed  in  a  little  rose-coloured 
silk  dress.  She  almost  ran,  and  the  other,  while 
accompanying  her,  walked  almost  behind  her. 
Instinctively  I  was  taken  with  a  fear  like  the 
poor  peasant  I  was,  and  I  said  to  Pierrette : 
[137] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

— "Let  us  run  away !" 

But,  pshaw!  We  did  not  have  the  time. 
And  what  increased  my  fears  was  to  see  the 
lady  in  rose-colour  motion  to  Pierrette,  who 
grew  red  all  over  and  dared  not  move,  and 
grabbed  my  hand  to  reassure  herself.  I  took 
off  my  cap,  and  leaned  my  back  against  the 
tree,  all  overcome. 

When  the  rose-coloured  lady  was  fully  upon 
us,  she  made  straight  for  Pierrette  and  with- 
out formality  took  her  by  the  chin  to  show  her 
to  the  other  lady,  and  said: 

— "Well,  what  did  I  tell  you?  It's  my  com- 
plete milkmaid's  costume  for  Thursday.  The 
pretty  child!  Dear,  you  will  give  all  your 
clothes,  just  the  way  you  are  wearing  them 
now,  to  the  people  I  will  send  for  them,  won't 
you?    I  shall  send  you  mine  in  exchange," 

— "Oh!  Madame,"  said  Pierrette  drawing 
back. 

The  other  young  lady  started  to  smile,  a  soft, 
tender  and  melancholy  smile,  whose  touching 
expression  is  uneffaceable  in  my  memory.  She 
came  forward,  her  head  bent  a  little  and  taking 
Pierrette  gently  by  the  arm,  she  told  her  to 
come  closer,  and  that  everybody  had  to  do  the 
bidding  of  the  other  lady. 
[138] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


— "Don't  go  and  change  a  thing  in  your  cos- 
tume, my  little  pretty,"  resumed  the  rose- 
coloured  lady,  threatening  her  with  a  little 
gold-headed  malacca  cane  she  held  in  her  hand. 
— "That  big  fellow  there  will  make  a  soldier, 
and  I  will  marry  you  two." 

She  was  so  beautiful  that  I  well  remember 
the  incredible  temptation  I  felt  to  kneel  at 
her  feet.  You  will  laugh  at  that  and  I  have 
often  laughed  over  it  myself  since.  But  if  you 
had  seen  her,  you  would  have  understood  what 
I  am  saying.  She  had  the  appearance  of  some 
very  good  little  fairy. 

She  spoke  fast  and  gaily,  and  giving  Pier- 
rette a  little  pat  on  the  cheek,  she  left  us  there 
together  all  dazzled  and  stupefied,  not  know- 
ing what  to  do,  and  we  saw  the  two  ladies, 
following  the  lane  towards  Montreuil,  plunge 
into  the  park  behind  the  little  wood. 

Then  we  two  looked  at  each  other,  and  still 
hand  in  hand,  we  went  home  to  the  priest.  We 
didn't  say  a  word,  but  we  were  very  happy. 

Pierrette  was  all  red,  and  I  hung  my  head. 
He  asked  us  what  was  the  matter  with  us.  I 
told  him  with  great  seriousness : 

— "Monsieur  le  Cure,  I  want  to  be  a  soldier." 
[139] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

It  nearly  knocked  him  over;  he  who  had 
taught  me  solfeggio. 

— "What?  You  want  to  leave  me,  my  dear 
boy?"  he  said  to  me.  "Oh!  my  God!  Pier- 
rette, what  have  they  been  doing  to  him,  that 
he  wants  to  be  a  soldier?  Don't  you  love  me 
any  more,  Mathurin?  Don't  you  love  Pier- 
rette any  more  either?  What  have  we  done 
to  you,  tell  me  ?  And  what  about  the  fine  edu- 
cation I  have  given  you?  That  was  time 
wasted,  surely.  But  answer  me,  you  wicked 
lad!"  he  added,  shaking  me  by  the  arm. 

I  scratched  my  head,  and  I  said,  looking  at 
my  sabots  all  the  while: 

— "I  want  to  be  a  soldier." 

Pierrette's  mother  brought  the  priest  a  big 
glass  of  cold  water,  because  he  had  grown  all 
red,  and  then  she  began  to  cry. 

Pierrette  cried  too  and  dared  not  speak  a 
word.  But  she  was  not  angry  with  me,  for  she 
was  very  well  aware  it  was  to  marry  her  that 
I  wanted  to  go  away. 

At  that  moment,  two  imposing  powdered 

lackeys    entered    with    a    chambermaid    that 

looked  like  a  lady  and  they  asked  if  the  little 

girl  had  prepared  the  clothes  the  Queen  and 

[140] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


Madame  the  Princess  de  Lamballe  had  asked 
her  for. 

The  poor  cure  rose  but  was  so  troubled  that 
he  could  not  keep  on  his  feet  for  a  moment. 
Pierrette  and  her  mother  shook  so  that  they 
dared  not  open  the  little  casket  sent  them  in 
exchange  for  the  frock  and  kerchief,  and  they 
went  to  the  undressing  almost  as  if  they  were 
going  to  be  shot. 

Alone  with  me,  the  priest  asked  me  what  all 
had  happened,  and  I  told  him  the  way  I  told 
you,  only  a  bit  more  briefly. 

— "And  so  it  is  because  of  that  you  want  to 
go  away,  my  son?"  he  asked,  taking  my  two 
hands.  "But  think  of  it,  the  greatest  Lady  in 
Europe  did  not  speak  that  way  to  a  little  peas- 
ant like  yourself  except  absent-mindedly,  and 
she  did  not  even  know  what  she  was  saying  to 
you.  If  she  were  to  be  told  that  you  have  taken 
her  words  for  a  conmiand,  or  for  a  horoscope, 
she  would  say  that  you  are  a  big  booby,  and 
that  you  may  be  a  gardener  all  your  life  for 
all  she  cares.  What  you  will  earn  gardening 
and  what  you  will  earn  giving  singing  lessons 
will  be  your  own,  my  boy.  While  what  you 
will  earn  in  a  regiment  will  not  belong  to  you, 
and  you  will  have  a  thousand  opportunities  of 
[141] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

spending  it  for  pleasures  forbidden  by  religion 
and  good  morals.  You  will  lose  all  the  good 
principles  I  have  given  you  and  you  will  make 
me  blush  for  you.  You  will  come  back  (if 
you  come  back  at  all)  with  a  character  other 
than  the  one  you  have  received  at  birth.  You 
are  nice,  modest,  quiet.  You  will  become  rough, 
impudent  and  blustering.  Little  Pierrette 
surely  won't  stand  for  being  the  wife  of  a  poor 
good-for-nothing,  and  her  mother  would  pre- 
vent her  even  if  she  wanted  to.  And  I,  what 
can  I  do  for  you,  when  you  forget  Providence 
altogether?  You  will  forget,  you'll  see,  you 
will  forget  Providence !  I  assure  you  you  will 
wind  up  that  way." 

I  remained  sulking,  eyes  fixed  on  my  wooden 
shoes  and  eyebrows  puckered,  and  I  answered, 
scratching  my  head : 

— "All  the  same,  I  want  to  be  a  soldier!" 
The  good  priest  did  not  insist  longer,  and 
throwing  the  door  wide  open,  he  showed  me 
the  road,  sadly.  I  understood  his  meaning  and 
stepped  out.  I  would  have  done  the  same,  in 
his  place,  most  certainly.  And  that's  what  I 
think  at  present,  but  that  day  I  did  not  think 
so.  I  put  my  cotton  cap  on  one  ear,  turned 
[142] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


up  the  collar  of  my  blouse,  grabbed  my  stick 
and  made  straight  for  a  little  inn  on  the  Ave- 
nue of  Versailles,  without  saying  good-bye  to 
a  souL 


[143] 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  FIRST  RATE  POSITION 

In  the  little  inn  I  found  three  braves  in  gold- 
laced  hats,  white  uniforms  with  pink  lapels, 
black  waxed  moustaches,  and  hair  all  powdered 
like  hoarfrost,  who  talked  as  fast  as  quack 
medicine  venders.  These  three  braves  were 
honest  crimps.  They  told  me  I  would  only 
have  to  sit  down  at  their  table  with  them  to 
get  the  right  idea  of  the  perfect  happiness  I 
would  eternally  and  forevermore  taste  in  the 
Royal-Auvergne  Regiment.  They  gave  me 
chicken  to  eat,  venison  and  partridges  too,  and 
Bordeaux  wine  to  drink,  and  champagne,  and 
excellent  coifee.  They  swore  to  me  on  their 
honour  that  in  the  Royal-Auvergne  I  would 
never  have  any  other. 

I  have  seen  since,  indeed,  that  they  spoke 
the  truth. 

They  swore  to  me  also — for  they  swore  to 
everything  —  that  in  the  Royal-Auvergne 
[144] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


people  enjoyed  the  sweetest  freedom;  that  its 
mere  troopers  were  incomparably  happier  than 
the  captains  of  other  regiments.  That  the 
pleasantest  society  of  men  and  fine  ladies  was 
to  be  had,  and  that  they  made  lots  of  music 
and,  particularly,  that  any  one  playing  the 
piano  would  be  greatly  appreciated.  This  last 
circumstance  clinched  my  decision. 

So  the  next  day  I  had  the  honour  of  being 
a  private  in  the  Royal- Auvergne.  It  was  quite 
a  fine  regiment,  it's  true.  ,  But  I  did  not  see 
Pierrette  nor  Monsieur  le  Cure.  At  dinner 
I  asked  for  chicken,  and  they  gave  me  that 
lovely  mess  of  potatoes,  mutton  and  bread  to 
eat,  which  was  called,  is  called,  and  no  doubt  al- 
ways will  be  ratatouille.  They  made  me  under- 
stand the  position  of  a  soldier  without  wea- 
pons with  such  grand  perfection  that  after- 
wards I  served  as  a  model  to  the  man  who  drew 
up  the  plates  of  the  regulations  of  1791.  You 
know  those  regulations.  Lieutenant;  they  are 
a  masterpiece  of  precision.  They  taught  me 
the  soldier's  manual  and  the  platoon  exercises 
so  as  to  execute  the  charges  in  twelve  tempos, 
the  double  quick  charges  and  the  charges  at 
will,  counting  or  not  counting  the  movements. 
They  taught  me  as  perfectly  as  the  strictest 
[145] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

corporal  of  the  Prussian  King,  Frederick  the 
Great,  whom  our  elders  still  remembered  with 
the  affection  of  people  that  love  those  that  have 
beaten  them.  They  did  me  the  honour  to  prom- 
ise me  that,  if  I  behaved  well,  I  would  in  the 
end  be  admitted  to  the  first  company  of  Gren- 
adiers. Pretty  soon,  I,  too,  had  a  powdered 
pigtail,  hanging  nobly  down  my  white-coated 
back.  But  I  never  saw  either  Pierrette,  or  her 
mother,  or  the  priest  of  Montreuil  any  more. 
And  I  did  not  play  any  music. 

One  fine  day  when  I  was  consigned  to  quar- 
ters— in  these  very  barracks  we  are  in  now — 
for  having  made  three  mistakes  in  the  exercises 
at  arms,  I  was  put  in  position  of  first  rank  fire, 
one  knee  on  the  pavement.  A  brilliant  and 
superb  sun  shone  full  in  my  face.  I  was  forced 
to  aim  my  musket  at  it,  in  perfect  immobility, 
until  exhaustion  made  me  bend  the  small  of 
my  arms.  I  was  encouraged  to  hold  up  my 
weapon  by  the  presence  of  a  strapping  corporal 
who  would  push  up  my  bayonet  with  the  butt 
of  his  gun  from  time  to  time,  whenever  it 
drooped.  It  was  a  nice  little  punishment,  in- 
vented by  Monsieur  de  Saint  Germain. 

I  had  been  applying  myself  for  twenty  min- 
utes to  attaining  the  highest  degree  of  petrif  ac- 
[146] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


tion  possible  in  that  attitude,  when  down  the 
barrel  of  my  musket  I  saw  the  kind  and  peace- 
able face  of  my  dear  Michel,  the  stone-cutter. 

— "You  come  just  at  the  right  time,  my 
friend,"  I  said  to  him,  "and  you  would  be  doing 
me  a  great  service  if  you  would  be  so  kind  as 
to  put  your  stick  under  my  bayonet  for  a  mo- 
ment, when  nobody  is  looking.  My  arms  would 
feel  the  better  for  it,  and  your  cane  would  not 
be  any  the  worse." 

— "Ah,  Mathurin,  my  friend,"  said  he  to 
me,  "you  are  properly  punished  for  having  left 
Montreuil.  You  have  no  longer  the  advice  and 
the  lectures  of  the  good  priest  and  you  are  go- 
ing to  forget  completely  the  music  you  loved 
so  much.  And  the  music  at  parade  surely  will 
not  make  up  for  it." 

— "Just  the  same,"  I  said,  lifting  the  end  of 
my  gun  barrel  away,  off  his  cane,  just  for 
pride,  "just  the  same,  each  one  of  us  has  his 
own  way  of  thinking!" 

— "You  won't  be  training  the  fruit  trees 
against  the  wall  and  grow  the  fine  Montreuil 
peaches  with  your  Pierrette,  who  is  quite  as 
fresh  and  downy  as  the  peaches." 

— "No  matter,"  I  repeated,  "I  have  my  own 
ideas." 

[147] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

— "You'll  be  spending  a  lot  of  time  on  your 
knees  shooting  at  nothing  with  a  wooden  stone, 
before  being  as  much  as  a  corporal." 

— "No  matter !"  I  repeated  once  again.  "No 
matter,  if  I  advance  slowly  it  is  advancing  just 
the  same.  All  things  come  to  him  who  waits, 
as  the  saying  goes,  and  when  I  am  a  sergeant, 
I  will  be  somebody,  and  I  will  marry  Pierrette. 
A  sergeant,  that's  a  lord,  and  all  honour  to  a 
lord!" 

Michel  groaned. 

— "Ah,  Mathurin,  Mathurin!"  he  said  to  me, 
"you  have  not  any  sense.  You  have  too  much 
pride  and  ambition,  my  young  friend.  Would 
you  not  rather  have  a  substitute,  if  somebody 
paid  him  for  you,  and  come  home  to  marry 
your  little  Pierrette?" 

— "Michel !  Michel !"  I  answered,  "you  have 
been  spoiled  in  the  world.  I  don't  know  what 
you  are  doing,  but  you  don't  look  to  me  like 
a  mason  any  more,  because,  instead  of  a  blouse, 
you  are  wearing  a  black  silk  coat.  You  surely 
would  not  have  spoken  to  me  like  this  in  the 
days  when  you  were  constantly  repeating: 
'Everybody  must  make  his  own  way.'  I  don't 
want  to  marry  her  on  somebody  else's  money, 
and  I  am  making  my  own  way  as  you  see. 
[148] 


THE  VIGH.  OF  VINCENNES 


Moreover,  it  is  the  Queen  who  has  put  this  into 
my  head,  and  the  Queen  cannot  be  wrong  in 
judging  what  is  best  to  do.  She  said  herself: 
*He  will  make  a  soldier,  and  I  will  marry  them.' 
She  did  not  say :  'He  will  come  back  after  hav- 
ing been  a  soldier,'  " 

—"But,"  Michel  insisted,  "if  the  Queen 
should  happen  to  want  to  give  you  the  where- 
withal to  marry  her,  would  you  take  it?" 

— "No,  Michel,  I  would  not  take  it,  if  by 
some  impossibility  she  would  want  to  give  it," 

— "And  if  Pierrette  herself  should  earn  her 
dower?"  he  resumed. 

— "Yes,  Michel,  then  I  would  marry  her 
right  off,"  said  I. 

The  good  fellow  looked  all  mollified. 

—"All  right,"  he  said,  "I  shall  tell  that  to 
the  Queen." 

— "Are  you  crazy,  or  are  you  a  servant  in 
her  palace?" 

— "Neither  one  nor  the  other,  Mathurin,  al- 
though I  don't  cut  stone  any  more." 

— "Then  what  are  you  doing?"  I  asked. 

— "Oh!  I  am  writing  some  plays  with  paper 
and  a  pen." 

—"Pshaw!"  I  retorted,  "is  it  possible?" 

— "Yes,  my  boy,  I  am  writing  some  little 
[149] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

plays,  very  simple  and  easily  understood.  I'll 
show  them  to  you." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  Timoleon,  inter- 
rupting the  Adjutant,  "the  works  of  the  good 
Sedaine  are  not  based  on  very  difficult  sub- 
jects. There  is  not  one  hypothesis  on  the  fi- 
nite or  the  infinite,  or  ultimate  causation,  or  the 
association  of  thought  and  individual  identity 
to  be  found  among  them.  Kings  and  queens 
are  not  killed  by  poison  or  on  the  scaffold.  His 
works  don't  go  by  resounding  names  encom- 
passed with  their  philosophic  exemplifications. 
But  they  have  names  like  ^Blaise,'  and  *The 
Lost  Lamb,'  *The  Gardener  and  his  Lord,' 
'The  Deserter,'  'The  Unexpected  Wager.' 
Those  are  very  simple  folk,  that  speak  the 
truth,  that  are  philosophers  without  knowing  it, 
like  Sedaine  himself.  I  think  he  is  bigger  than 
they  have  made  him  out  to  be." 

I  did  not  answer. 

The  Adjutant  went  on: 

—"Well,  all  the  better !"  I  told  him.  "I  like 
to  see  you  work  at  those  as  well  as  at  your 
stones." 

— "Ah!  what  I  was  building  is  worth  more 
[150] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


than  what  I  am  constructing  now.  The  former 
did  not  pass  out  of  style  and  stood  up  longer. 
But  in  falling  it  might  crush  somebody.  While 
at  present,  if  what  I  am  doing  should  fall,  no- 
body will  be  crushed." 

— "No  matter,  I  always  rest  easy,"  I  said. 
That  is  to  say,  I  meant  to  say  it.  For  the  Cor- 
poral just  then  landed  such  a  terrific  blow  on 
the  cane  of  my  friend  Michel,  that  it  was  sent 
flying  down  there,  look — 'way  over  there,  near 
the  powder  house. 

And  at  the  same  time  he  gave  the  sentry  six 
days  in  the  guard-house,  for  having  allowed  a 
civilian  in. 

Sedaine  understood  he  had  to  go.  He  quiet- 
ly picked  up  his  cane  and  going  out  on  the  side 
toward  the  woods,  he  said  to  me : 

— "I  assure  you,  Mathurin,  that  I  shall  tell 
the  Queen  about  all  this." 


[1511 


CHAPTER  IX 
A  SEANCE 

My  little  Pierrette  was  a  beautiful  little  girl, 
of  strong,  serene  and  true  character.  She  was 
not  easily  disconcerted,  and  since  she  had 
spoken  with  the  Queen,  she  did  not  let  herself 
be  scolded  readily.  She  knew  how  to  tell  Mon- 
sieur le  Cure  and  his  servant  that  she  wanted 
to  marry  Mathurin,  and  she  stayed  up  nights 
to  sew  on  her  trousseau,  just  as  if  I  had  not 
been  cast  out  for  a  long  time,  if  not  forever. 

One  day  (it  was  Easter  Monday,  she  al- 
ways remembered,  poor  Pierrette,  and  she  of- 
ten told  me  so)  one  day,  then,  as  she  was  sitting 
in  front  of  Monsieur  le  Cure's  door  working 
and  singing  as  if  nothing  were  the  matter,  she 
saw  a  beautiful  carriage  approaching  at  a 
quick  gait;  the  six  horses  trotting  on  the 
Avenue  at  a  marvellous  pace  were  mounted  by 
little  pink  and  powdered  postilions  who  were 
so  very  tiny  that  at  a  distance  only  their  huge 
riding  boots  could  be  seen.  They  wore  big 
[152] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


bunches  of  flowers  on  their  jabots,  and  the 
horses  had  flowers  at  the  ears. 

And  then!  Did  not  the  outrider,  who  ran 
ahead  of  the  horses,  stop  exactly  in  front  of 
the  door  of  Monsieur  le  Cure!  And  the  coach 
was  kind  enough  to  stop  there  also,  and  deigned 
to  be  opened  wide.  Nobody  was  inside.  While 
Pierrette  looked  on  with  big  eyes,  the  outrider 
took  off  his  hat  most  politely  and  asked  her 
to  please  step  into  the  carriage. 

Perhaps  you  think  Pierrette  hesitated  ?  Not 
at  all!  She  was  too  sensible  for  that.  She 
simply  took  off*  her  two  wooden  shoes,  which 
she  left  on  the  doorstep,  put  on  her  shoes  with 
the  silver  buckles,  folded  her  work  neatly,  and 
climbed  into  the  carriage,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
the  footman,  as  if  she  had  never  done  anything 
else  in  her  life.  You  see,  since  she  had  changed 
dresses  with  the  Queen,  she  was  no  longer 
afraid  of  anything. 

She  often  told  me  of  the  two  great  frights 
she  had  had  in  the  carriage :  the  first,  because 
they  were  going  so  fast  that  the  trees  of  the 
Avenue  de  Montreuil  seemed  to  be  running  af- 
ter each  other  like  crazy  things;  the  second, 
because  it  seemed  to  her  that,  sitting  down  on 
the  white  cushions  of  the  carriage,  she  would 
[153] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

leave  on  them  a  blue  and  yellow  spot  from  the 
colour  of  her  petticoat.  She  tucked  it  up  into 
her  pocket  and  stayed  stiff  upright  on  the  edge 
of  the  cushion,  not  at  all  troubled  by  her  adven- 
ture, shrewdly  guessing  that  under  such  cir- 
cumstances it  is  wise  to  do  what  everybody 
wishes,  frankly  and  without  hesitating. 

Keenly  understanding  her  proper  place, 
thanks  to  her  sweet  and  happy  nature  that  was 
inclined  towards  the  good  in  everything,  she 
permitted  the  outrider  to  give  her  his  arm 
in  perfect  manner  and  lead  her  to  Trianon, 
and  into  the  gilded  apartment  where  she  took 
care  to  walk  on  the  tips  of  her  toes,  out  of  re- 
gard for  the  parquet  floors  of  inlaid  wood, 
which  she  was  afraid  of  scratching  with  the 
nails  of  her  shoes. 

When  she  entered  the  last  room,  she  heard 
a  joyous  little  laugh  from  two  very  low  voices. 
That  did  intimidate  her  a  trifle  at  first  and 
made  her  heart  beat  faster.  But  after  entering 
she  was  quickly  reassured.  It  was  only  her 
friend,  the  Queen. 

Madame  de  Lamballe  was  with  her.     But 

she  was  sitting  in  a  bay  window  before  a  desk 

for  miniature  painting.     On  the  green  cover 

of  the  desk  was  an  ivory  all  prepared ;  near  the 

[154] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


ivory  were  brushes;  near  the  brushes,  a  glass 
of  water. 

— "Ah!  there  she  is!"  said  the  Queen  with  a 
holiday  air,  and  she  ran  to  take  both  Pierrette's 
hands. 

— "How  fresh  she  looks  and  how  pretty! 
What  a  pretty  little  model  she  will  make  you ! 
Come  on,  don't  miss  her,  Madame  de  Lam- 
balle!    Sit  down  there,  child!" 

And  beautiful  Marie- Antoinette  made  her 
sit  down  on  a  chair  almost  forcibly.  Pierrette 
was  altogether  dumbfounded,  and  her  chair  was 
so  high  that  her  little  feet  hung  down  and 
dangled. 

— "Why  look  how  well  she  holds  herself," 
continued  the  Queen.  "She  does  not  need  to 
be  told  twice  what  is  wanted  of  her.  I  wager 
she  has  good  sense.  Hold  yourself  up  straight, 
dear  child,  and  listen  to  me.  Two  gentlemen 
are  coming  here.  Whether  you  know  them  or 
not  doesn't  matter  and  does  not  concern  you. 
You  must  do  everything  they  tell  you  to  do.  I 
know  you  sing,  so  you  will  sing.  When  they 
tell  you  to  come  in  and  go  out,  to  come  and 
go — you  will  come  in  and  go  out,  you  will  come 
and  go — just  as  they  tell  you.  Do  you  under- 
stand? All  this  is  for  your  own  good.  Madame 
[155] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

and  I  will  help  them  to  teach  you  something  I 
know,  and  for  our  trouble  we  only  ask  you  to 
pose  for  Madame  an  hour  every  day.  That  does 
not  distress  you  too  much,  does  it?" 

Pierrette  did  not  answer  but  blushed  and 
paled  at  each  word.  But  she  was  so  happy  that 
she  would  have  liked  to  embrace  the  little 
Queen  like  a  chum. 

As  she  was  posing,  eyes  turned  towards  the 
door,  she  saw  two  men  come  in.  One  was  stout, 
the  other  tall.  When  she  saw  the  tall  one  she 
could  not  help  crying  out:  "Why  it's 
the  .  .  ." 

But  she  bit  her  finger  to  keep  still. 

— "Well,  what  do  you  think  of  her,  gentle- 
men?" asked  the  Queen.    "Was  I  mistaken?" 

— "Isn't  it  Rose  herself?"  said  Sedaine. 

— "A  single  note,  Madame,"  said  the  stouter 
of  the  two,  "and  I  will  know  if  she  is  the  Rose 
of  Monsigny,  as  well  as  the  Rose  of  Sedaine 
here." 

— "Come,  little  one,  repeat  this  scale,"  said 
Gretry,  singing  do,  re,  mi,  fa,  sol. 

Pierrette, repeated  it. 

— "She  has  a  divine  voice,  Madame,"  said  he. 

The  Queen  clapped  her  hands,  and  jumped. 

— "She  will  earn  her  dower,"  she  cried. 
[156] 


CHAPTER  X 
A  BEAUTIFUL  EVENING 

With  this  the  good  Adjutant  took  a  sip 
from  his  Httle  glass  of  absinth,  urging  us  to  fol- 
low his  example.  Then,  having  wiped  his 
white  moustache  with  a  huge,  red  handkerchief 
and  twirling  the  ends  for  an  instant  with  his 
big  fingers,  he  went  on. 

If  I  knew  how  to  prepare  surprises.  Lieu- 
tenant, the  way  they  do  in  books,  and  maintain 
the  suspense  about  the  ending  of  a  story,  hold- 
ing a  high  hand  over  my  audience,  making  them 
get  a  foretaste  of  it,  and  then  snatching  it  away 
again,  and  finally  letting  them  munch  it  down 
altogether — then  I  might  find  a  new  way  of 
telling  you  the  sequel  of  this  story.  But  I  pro- 
ceed "from  thread  to  needle,"  just  as  simply 
as  my  life  has  been  from  one  day  to  another. 
I  will  tell  you  that  since  the  day  my  poor 
Michel  came  to  see  me  here,  at  Vincennes,  and 
found  me  in  the  position  of  first  rank  fire,  I 
[157] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

i— ^— *— — — — ^^■— — —— ^— — — — ^— — — ^■^■— ^— 

grew  thin  in  a  ridiculous  manner,  because  I 
did  not  hear  our  little  family  in  Montreuil 
spoken  of  any  more.  And  I  had  come  to  be- 
lieve that  Pierrette  had  forgotten  me  alto- 
gether. 

The  Auvergne  regiment  had  been  at  Orleans 
for  three  months  and  homesickness  began  to 
overtake  me.  I  grew  more  yellow  every  day, 
and  I  could  no  longer  carry  my  musket.  My 
comrades  began  to  look  down  on  me,  the 
way  they  do  here  on  any  sickness;  you  know 
it. 

There  were  some  who  scorned  me  because 
they  thought  I  was  very  ill.  Others  thought 
that  I  made  believe.  In  this  latter  case,  all  I 
could  do  would  have  been  to  die  to  prove  that  I 
had  spoken  the  truth.  For  I  could  not  get  well 
again  at  once,  nor  sick  enough  to  keep  to  my 
bed;  a  ticklish  position  it  was. 

One  day  an  officer  of  my  company  sought 
me  out  and  said  to  me : 

— "Mathurin,  you  who  know  how  to  read, 
read  this  a  bit." 

And   he   took   me   to   the    Place    Jeanne 
d'Arc,  a  square  very  dear  to  me,  where  I  read 
a  big  play-bill  on  which  this  was  printed : 
[158] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


BY  ORDER 

Next  Monday,  special  performance  of 
"Irene,"  a  new  play  by  M.  de  Voltaire,  and  of 
"Rose  et  Colas,"  by  M.  Sedaine,  music  by  M. 
IMonsigny,  for  the  benefit  of  Mademoiselle 
Colombe,  celebrated  singer  of  the  Comedie- 
Italienne,  who  will  appear  in  the  second  piece. 
Her  Majesty  the  Queen  has  deigned  to  prom- 
ise that  she  will  honour  the  performance  with 
her  presence. 

— "Well!"  I  said,  "Captain,  what  can  that 
be  to  me?" 

— "You  are  a  good  boy,"  he  answered.  "You 
are  a  good-looking  boy.  I  shall  have  you  curled 
and  powdered  to  make  you  a  little  more  pre- 
sentable, and  you  will  be  put  sentry  at  the 
door  of  the  Queen's  box." 

So  said  so  done.  The  hour  of  the  perform- 
ance come,  there  I  was  in  the  corridor,  in  the 
full  dress  uniform  of  the  Auvergne  regiment, 
on  a  blue  carpet,  amidst  garlands  of  flowers 
festooned  about  everywhere,  and  full-blown 
lilies  on  every  step  of  the  theatre  stairways.  The 
manager  ran  everywhere  at  once,  looking  very 
joyful  and  anxious.  He  was  a  little  man,  red 
[159] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

and  fat,  dressed  in  a  skyblue  silk  coat,  with  a 
flourishing  jabot,  and  he  did  strut  about.  He 
was  all  excitement  and  did  not  stop  peeking 
through  the  window,  and  crowing: 

— "This  is  the  livery  of  Madaine  the  Duchess 
de  Montmorency.  And  here,  the  courier  of  the 
Duke  de  Lauzun.  The  Prince  de  Guemenee 
has  just  arrived!  Monsieur  de  Lambesc  came 
in  next !  Have  you  seen  ?  Do  you  know  ?  How 
good  the  Queen  is!    The  Queen  is  so  kind!" 

He  passed  and  repassed  all  bewildered,  look- 
ing for  Gretry,  and  bumped  into  him  in  the 
corridor,  just  in  front  of  me. 

— "Tell  me,  Monsieur  Gretry,  my  dear  Mon- 
sieur Gretry,  tell  me,  I  beg  of  you,  is  it  not 
possible  for  me  to  say  a  word  to  this  famous 
singer  you  are  bringing  here?  Surely  an  ig- 
noramus, an  illiterate  like  me  is  not  permitted 
to  raise  the  slightest  doubt  of  her  talent.  But 
I  would  like  you  to  tell  me  again  that  there  is 
no  danger  of  the  Queen  being  displeased. 
There  has  been  no  rehearsal !" 

— "Well  now!"  answered  Gretry  with  an  air 
of  mockery,  "it  is  impossible  for  me  to  answer 
you  that,  my  dear  sir.  What  I  can  assure  you 
is  that  you  shall  not  see  her.  An  actress  like 
she,  sir,  is  a  spoiled  child.  But  you  will  see  her 
[160] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


when  she  comes  on.  Moreover,  if  it  were  an- 
other than  Mademoiselle  Colombe,  what  would 
it  be  to  you?" 

— "What,  sir,  to  me,  the  manager  of  the 
Orleans  Theatre?  I  should  have  no  right 
.  .  ."  and  he  puffed  out  his  cheeks. 

— "No  right  whatever,  my  dear  manager," 
said  Gretry.  "Why,  how  can  you  doubt  for  a 
minute  a  talent  Sedaine  and  I  have  vouched 
for?"  he  pursued  more  seriously. 

I  was  very  glad  to  hear  that  name  quoted 
with  authority,  and  I  paid  closer  attention. 

The  manager,  like  a  man  that  knows  his 
business,  wanted  to  take  advantage  of  the  cir- 
cumstance.   He  snorted: 

— "But  don't  I  count  for  something?  What 
do  you  take  me  for?  I  have  loaned  my  theatre 
with  great  pleasure;  I  was  only  too  glad  to 
see  the  illustrious  princess  who  .  .  ." 

Gretry  cut  him  short,  "By  the  way,  you 
know  I  am  charged  to  tell  you  that  the  Queen 
shall  let  you  have  a  sum  equal  to  one-half  of 
the  gross  receipts  this  evening?" 

The  manager  made  a  profound  bow,  slipping 
backward  the  while,  which  proved  the  joy  this 
piece  of  news  gave  him. 

— "Fie,  sir,  fie!  I  am  not  talking  about 
[161] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

that,  in  spite  of  the  respect  with  which  I  shall 
accept  this  bounty.  But  you  have  not  let  me 
hope  for  anything  to  come  from  your  genius, 
and  .  .  ." 

— "You  know  too  that  there  is  some  question 
of  you  to  manage  the  Comedie-Italienne  at 
Paris?" 

— "Ahl    Monsieur  Gretry!" 

— "At  court  they  talk  only  of  your  merits. 
Everybody  there  likes  you,  and  it  is  because 
of  it,  that  the  Queen  wanted  to  see  your  theatre. 
A  manager  is  the  soul  of  everything.  From 
him  emanate  the  genius  of  the  authors,  of  the 
composers,  of  the  actors,  the  decorators,  the 
scene-painters,  the  lighters  and  the  sweepers. 
He  is  the  beginning  and  end  of  everything.  The 
Queen  knows  it !  You  have  tripled  your  prices 
of  admission,  I  hope?" 

— "Oh,  better  than  that.  Monsieur  Gretry, 
admission  is  one  louis.  I  could  not  be  found 
lacking  in  respect  to  the  Court  by  making  it 
any  lower." 

At  this  point  a  great  clatter  of  horses  and 

loud  cries  of  gladness  resounded  everywhere, 

and  the  Queen  entered  so  quickly  that  I  barely 

had  time  to  present  arms,  as  did  the  sentry 

[162] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


ahead  of  me.  Two  fine  and  perfumed  gentle- 
men followed  her,  and  a  young  lady.  I  recog- 
nised her  for  the  one  that  accompanied  the 
Queen  at  Montreuil. 

The  performance  began  at  once.  Le  Kain 
and  five  other  actors  from  the  Comedie  Fran- 
9aise  had  come  to  play  the  tragedy  of 
*'Irene."  I  knew  all  the  time  when  the  trag- 
edy was  going  on,  because  the  Queen  talked 
and  laughed  all  the  while  it  lasted.  People  did 
not  applaud,  out  of  respect  for  her.  I  think 
that  is  still  the  custom  at  Court.  But  when  the 
comic  opera  came  on,  she  did  not  talk  any  more, 
and  no  one  in  her  box  breathed. 

Suddenly  I  heard  the  splendid  voice  of  a 
woman  rise  on  the  stage.  It  moved  me  to  the 
soul.  I  trembled  so,  I  had  to  lean  on  my  mus- 
ket. There  was  only  one  voice  like  that  in  the 
world,  a  voice  that  came  from  the  heart,  and 
resounded  in  the  breast  like  a  harp,  a  voice  of 
passion. 

I  listened,  putting  my  ear  against  the  door 
and  through  the  lace  curtain  before  the  little 
peephole  of  the  box,  I  caught  glimpses  of  the 
actors  and  the  piece  they  were  playing.  One 
little  person  was  singing: 
[163] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^"^^^'*"*™^^'^'"''*''''*'**''*^'''"^**"'^'''*^^™*^''''''^^— ^— ^— — ^ 

II  etait  un  oiseau  gris 

Comme  un  souris, 
Qui,  pour  loger  ses  petits, 

Fit  un  p'tit  nid. 

And  said  to  her  lover: 

Aimez-moi,  Aimez-moi,  mon  p'tit  roi. 

And,  as  he  was  sitting  on  the  window,  she 
was  afraid  that  her  sleeping  father  might  wake 
and  see  Colas.  So  she  changed  the  refrain  of 
her  song,  and  said : 

Ah!  r'montez  vos  jambes,  car  on  les  voit. 

I  felt  an  extraordinary  shiver  all  through 
my  body  when  I  saw  how  much  this  Rose  re- 
sembled Pierrette.  It  was  her  figure,  her  same 
dress,  her  red  and  blue  smock,  her  white  petti- 
coat, her  little,  deliberate  and  naive  air,  her 
shapely  leg  and  her  little  shoes  with  the  silver 
buckles  and  the  red  and  blue  stockings. 

— "Mon  Dieu"  I  said  to  myself,  "how 
clever  these  actresses  have  to  be  to  take  off  the 
looks  of  some  one  else  so  completely.  Here  is 
famous  Mademoiselle  Colombe,  who  lives  in  a 
fine  house,  who  has  come  in  a  carriage,  who  has 
[164] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


several  lackeys  and  goes  about  in  Paris 
dressed  like  a  Duchess,  and  she  looks  for  all  the 
world  exactly  like  Pierrette.  But  just  the 
same,  it  is  plain  it  is  not  she.  My  poor  Pier- 
rette did  not  sing  as  well,  though  her  voice  was 
every  bit  as  fine." 

Nevertheless,  I  could  not  stop  looking 
through  the  glass  and  I  stuck  there  till  the 
door  was  pushed  suddenly  into  my  face.  It 
was  too  warm  for  the  Queen,  and  she  wanted 
the  door  of  her  box  opened.  I  heard  her  voice. 
She  spoke  fast  and  loud. 

— "I  am  very  glad.  The  King  will  be  much 
amused  at  our  adventure.  Monsieur  the  First 
Gentleman  of  the  Chamber  may  tell  Mademoi- 
selle Colombe  that  she  won't  regret  having  let 
me  do  the  honours  in  her  name.  Oh,  how  amus- 
ing this  is !" 

— "My  dear  Princess,"  she  said  to  Madame 
de  Lamballe,  "we  have  hoodwinked  everybody 
here.  .  .  .  Every  one  is  doing  a  good  deed 
without  guessing  it.  There  are  the  good 
townsfolk  of  Orleans,  delighted  with  the  great 
singer,  and  all  the  Court  wanting  to  applaud 
her.    Yes,  yes,  let  us  applaud." 

At  the  same  time  she  gave  the  signal  for  ap- 
plause, and  the  whole  audience,  hands  now 
[165] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

loosed,  no  longer  let  a  line  of  Rose  pass  with- 
out applauding  madly.  The  charming  Queen 
was  delighted. 

— "There  are  three  thousand  lovers  here," 
she  said  to  Monsieur  de  Biron.  "But  this  time 
they  are  lovers  of  Rose,  and  not  of  me." 

The  play  came  to  an  end  and  the  women  be- 
gan to  throw  their  flowers  at  Rose. 

— "And  the  real  lover,  where  is  he?"  said  the 
Queen  to  the  Duke  de  Lauzun.  He  left  the 
box  and  motioned  to  my  captain  who  was  roam- 
ing along  the  corridor. 

The  fit  of  trembling  took  me  again.  I  felt 
that  something  was  going  to  happen  to  me. 
Yet  I  dared  not  look  forward  to  or  compre- 
hend, or  even  think  of  what  it  might  be. 

My  captain  bowed  deeply  and  spoke  softly 
to  Monsieur  de  Lauzun.  The  Queen  looked 
at  me.  I  had  to  lean  against  the  wall  to  keep 
from  falling.  People  came  up  the  stairs  and 
I  saw  JMichel  Sedaine,  followed  by  Gretry, 
and  the  manager,  important  and  silly.  They 
escorted  Pierrette,  the  real  Pierrette,  my  own 
Pierrette,  my  little  sister,  my  wife,  my  Pier- 
rette of  Montreuil. 

The  manager  cried  from  afar: 
[166] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


— "This  has  been  a  splendid  evening,  eight- 
een thousand  francs!" 

The  Queen  turned  around,  and  walking  out- 
side her  box  in  a  way  that  was  at  once  full  of 
frank  gaiety  and  shrewd  benevolence,  she  took 
Pierrette's  hand: 

— "Come,  dear  child,  there  is  no  other  work 
by  which  you  could  honestly  earn  your  dower 
in  one  hour's  time.  To-morrow  I  am  going  to 
take  my  little  pupil  to  Monsieur  le  Cure  of 
Montreuil,  who  will  absolve  us  both,  I  hope. 
He  will  surely  forgive  you  for  having  play- 
acted once  in  your  life.  It's  the  least  an  hon- 
est woman  may  do." 

Then  she  saluted  me.  Saluted  me!  I,  who 
was  more  than  half  dead !    Such  cruelty  I 

— "I  hope,"  she  said,  "that  Monsieur  Math- 
urin  will  accept  Pierrette's  fortune  now.  I 
won't  add  a  penny  to  it.  She  has  earned  it  all 
herself." 


[167] 


CHAPTER  XI 
CONCLUSION  OF  THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  ADJUTANT 

Here  our  Adjutant  rose  to  take  the  portrait 
which  he  let  us  pass  from  hand  to  hand  once 
again. 

"Here  she  is,"  he  said,  "in  the  same  cos- 
tume, the  same  headdress  and  the  same  kerchief 
at  her  throat.  Here  she  is  just  as  Madame 
the  Princess  de  Lamballe  wanted  to  paint  her. 
It  is  your  mother,  my  child,"  he  said  to  the 
pretty  young  person  he  had  close  by  him  on 
his  knee.  "She  never  play-acted  again,  for  she 
could  never  learn  but  that  one  part  in  *Rose  et 
Colas'  the  Queen  had  taught  her." 

He  was  moved.  His  old,  white  moustache 
trembled  a  little,  and  a  tear  fell  on  it. 

"Here  is  a  child  that  caused  her  mother's 
death  at  birth,"  he  added.  "I  have  had  to  love 
her  a  great  deal  to  forgive  her  for  that.  But 
all  is  not  given  us  at  the  same  time.  It  would 
have  been  too  much  for  me,  apparently,  for 
[168] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


Providence  has  not  willed  it  so.  Afterwards 
I  rolled  along  with  the  cannon  of  the  Republic 
and  the  Empire.  And  I  may  say  that  between 
Marengo  and  the  Moscova  I  have  seen  many 
pretty  fights.  But  in  all  my  life  I  have  had 
no  more  wonderful  day  than  the  one  of  which 
I  have  just  been  telling  you.  The  day  I  en- 
tered the  Royal  Guard,  too,  was  one  of  the 
best.  I  again  took  to  the  white  cockade  I  had 
had  in  the  Royal-Auvergne  with  great  joy! 
And  also,  Lieutenant,  I  have  stuck  to  doing  my 
duty,  as  you  have  seen.  I  believe  I  would  die 
of  shame,  if  at  inspection  to-morrow  a  single 
cannon-cartridge  should  be  missing.  At  that, 
I  think  they  took  a  keg  of  powder  at  the  last 
firing  exercises  for  cartridges  for  the  infantry. 
I  would  almost  like  to  go  and  see,  if  it  were  not 
forbidden  to  enter  with  lights." 

We  begged  him  to  rest  easy  and  stay  with 
his  children;  they  turned  him  from  his  intent. 
And  while  finishing  his  little  glass,  he  told  us 
a  few  more  indifferent  features  of  his  life.  He 
had  had  no  advancement  because  he  had  always 
loved  the  picked  corps  and  had  become  too 
much  attached  to  his  regiment.  A  gunner  in 
the  Guards  of  the  Consuls,  a  sergeant  in  the 
Imperial  Guard  had  always  seemed  higher 
[169] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

ranks  to  him  than  officer  of  the  line.  I  have 
seen  many  veterans  like  that.  Furthermore, 
all  a  soldier  can  have  in  the  way  of  dignities, 
he  had;  the  musket  "of  honour,"  with  silver 
rings,  the  cross  of  honour  with  pension,  and 
particularly  fine  and  noble  service  records  in 
which  the  "brilliant  action"  columns  were  filled 
up.    Of  those  he  did  not  tell. 

It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  We  put 
an  end  to  the  vigil,  and  cordially  pressing  the 
hand  of  this  good  man  we  rose  and  left  him 
happy  with  the  emotions  of  his  life  he  had  re- 
vived within  his  fine  and  honest  soul. 

"How  many  times  more  worthy,"  I  said,  "is 
this  old  soldier  in  his  resignation  than  we, 
young  officers,  with  our  mad  ambitions !  Here 
is  something  for  us  to  think  about." 

"Yes,"  I  continued,  crossing  the  little  bridge 
that  was  drawn  up  after  us,  "I  believe  that.  I 
believe  the  finest  thing,  of  our  times,  is  the  spirit 
of  such  a  soldier,  scrupulous  of  his  honour,  and 
thinking  it  stained  by  the  slightest  mark  of  lack 
of  discipline,  or  of  neglect.  Without  self-seek- 
ing, without  vanity,  without  luxury!  A  slave 
always,  but  always  proud  and  content  of  his 
servitude,  with  nothing  cherished  in  his  life  save 
a  memory  of  gratitude." 
[170] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


"And  believing  Providence  has  an  eye  on 
him!"  said  Timoleon,  with  an  air  profoundly 
touched.  And  he  left  me  to  go  to  his  own 
quarters. 


[171] 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  AWAKENING 

I  SLEPT  for  an  hour.  It  was  four  in  the  morn- 
ing. It  was  August  seventeenth,  I  have  not 
forgotten.  Suddenly  my  two  windows  burst 
open  together,  and  all  their  shattered  panes 
fell  into  my  room  with  a  little  silvery  tinkle, 
very  pretty  to  hear.  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  I 
saw  a  whitish  smoke  come  softly  into  my  room 
and  up  to  my  bed,  making  a  thousand  wreaths. 
I  began  to  contemplate  them  with  rather  sur- 
prised eyes,  and  I  recognised  them  by  their 
colour  as  quickly  as  by  their  smell. 

I  ran  to  the  window.  Day  was'  just  break- 
ing. Its  tender  sheen  lighted  all  the  old  mo- 
tionless castle  that  was  still  silent.  It  seemed 
to  be  in  the  stupor  of  the  first  blow  it  had  just 
received.  Nothing  stirred.  The  old  grenadier 
only,  that  was  posted  on  the  rampart  where 
he  was  bolted  in  as  usual,  marched  very  fast, 
rifle  at  shoulder,  looking  towards  the  courts. 
He  went  like  a  caged  lion. 
[172] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


As  all  remained  silent,  I  began  to  believe 
that  a  rifle  trial  in  the  pits  had  caused  the  com- 
motion, when  a  violent  explosion  was  heard. 
At  the  same  instant  I  saw  a  sun  rise  that  was 
not  the  sun  of  Heaven.  It  rose  on  the  last 
tower  towards  the  woods.  Its  rays  were  red. 
Each  one  of  them  had  at  its  end  a  bomb  that 
was  bursting.  In  front  of  them  a  mist  of  pow- 
der. This  time  the  donjon,  the  barracks,  the 
towers,  the  ramparts,  the  village  and  the  woods 
shuddered  and  seemed  to  slide  from  left  to  right 
and  back  like  a  drawer  opened  and  immediate- 
ly shut.  Then  I  understood  the  quaking  of  the 
ground.  A  rattling  similar  to  that  of  all  the 
porcelain  of  Sevres  thrown  out  of  a  window 
made,  me  grasp  perfectly  that  of  all  the  win- 
dows of  the  chapel,  of  all  the  panes  in  the 
castle,  of  all  the  lights  of  the  barracks  and  the 
village,  not  a  sliver  remained  sticking  to  the 
putty.  The  whitish  smoke  curled  away  in  little 
wreaths! 

"The  powder  is  very  excellent  when  it  makes 
little  wreaths  like  those,"  said  Timoleon,  enter- 
ing my  room  all  dressed  and  armed. 

"It  seems  to  me  we  are  blowing  up,"  I  an- 
swered. 

[173] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

"I  say  nothing  to  the  contrary,"  he  muttered 
coldly.    "There  is  nothing  to  be  done  as  yet." 

In  three  minutes  I  was  dressed  and  armed 
like  him.  In  silence  we  stared  at  the  silent 
castle. 

Suddenly  twenty  drummers  sounded  the 
alarm.  The  walls  came  out  of  their  stupor 
and  their  impassivity  and  echoing  called  for 
help.  The  arms  of  the  drawbridge  began  to 
lower  slowly  and  dropped  their  heavy  chains 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  moat.  That  was  to 
let  the  officers  come  in  and  the  inhabitants 
get  out.  We  ran  to  the  portcullis :  it  opened  to 
admit  the  strong  and  throw  out  the  weak, 

A  singular  spectacle  struck  us.  All  the 
women  crowded  around  the  door,  and  at  the 
same  time  all  the  horses  of  the  garrison.  By 
some  just  instinct  of  danger  they  had  broken 
their  stable  halters  or  thrown  their  riders,  and 
pawing,  waited  for  an  outlet  to  the  open.  They 
ran  through  the  courts,  mane  bristling,  nostrils 
wide,  red-eyed  and  rearing  against  the  walls, 
sniffing  the  powder  and  hiding  their  scorched 
muzzles  in  the  sand. 

A  young  and  pretty  person,  wrapped  in  her 
bedclothes,  followed  by  her  half -dressed  mother 
who  was  carried  by  a  soldier,  went  out  first. 
[174] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


All  the  crowd  followed.  At  the  moment,  that 
seemed  a  very  useless  precaution  to  me,  for  the 
open  ground  was  not  safe  for  six  miles  from 
the  place. 

We  entered  on  the  run,  with  all  the  officers 
quartered  in  the  village.  The  first  thing  that 
struck  me  was  the  serene  faces  of  our  old  Gren- 
adiers of  the  Guard,  stationed  at  the  entrance. 
Rifles  at  rest,  calmly  leaning  on  them,  they 
looked  towards  the  powder-house  knowingly, 
but  without  a  word  and  without  quitting  the 
prescribed  attitude,  hand  on  rifle  strap. 

My  friend,  Ernest  d'Hanache,  commanded 
them.  He  saluted  us  with  the  Henri  IV  smile 
that  came  natural  to  him.  I  shook  hands  with 
him.  He  did  not  lose  his  life  until  in  the  last 
Vendeen  uprising,  where  he  died  nobly.  All 
those  I  mention  in  these  still  recent  reminis- 
cences are  already  dead. 

In  running  I  stumbled  over  something  that 
all  but  made  me  fall.  It  was  a  human  foot.  I 
could  not  help  stopping  to  look  at  it. 

"That's  what  your  foot  will  be  like  in  a  mo- 
ment," said  an  officer  going  by  and  laughing 
heartily. 

There  was  nothing  to  indicate  that  foot  had 
ever  been  shod.  It  seemed  as  if  embalmed,  and 
[175] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

preserved  like  a  mummy's.  Torn  off  about 
two  inches  above  the  ankle,  like  the  feet  of 
statues  that  serve  for  models  in  studios — pol- 
ished, veined  like  black  marble,  without  any- 
pink  except  the  nails.  I  had  no  time  to  sketch 
it.  I  went  my  way  to  the  farthest  court,  in 
front  of  the  barracks. 

There  we  awaited  our  soldiers.  In  their  first 
surprise  they  had  thought  the  castle  was  at- 
tacked. They  had  jumped  from  their  beds  to 
the  rifleracks  and  gathered  in  the  court,  most 
of  them  in  their  nightshirts,  but  rifle  in  hand. 
Nearly  all  had  their  feet  bleeding  and  cut  with 
broken  glass.  They  stood  dumb  and  motion- 
less against  an  enemy  that  was  not  man,  and 
were  glad  to  see  their  officers  arrive. 

As  for  us,  it  was  the  very  crater  of  the  vol- 
cano into  which  we  ran.  It  still  smoked  and 
a  third  eruption  was  imminent. 

The  small  powder-house  tower  was  ripped 
asunder  and  through  its  open  flanks  lazy 
smoke  was  seen  to  rise  and  curl  upward. 

Had  all  the  powder  in  the  little  tower  ex- 
ploded? Or  did  enough  remain  to  blow  us  all 
up?  That  was  the  question!  But  there  was 
another  that  was  not  so  uncertain ;  it  was  that 
all  the  artillery  caissons,  loaded  and  open, 
[176] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


in  the  adjoining  court,  would  blow  up  if  a 
single  spark  reached  them;  and  that  the  donjon 
holding  four  hundred  thousand  rounds  of  can- 
non powder,  Vincennes,  its  woods,  its  town,  its 
fields  and  part  of  the  Faubourg  Saint- Antoine 
would  be  sent  flying  sky-high  with  all  the 
bricks,  branches,  earth,  roofs,  and  the  best 
attached  human  heads  as  well. 

The  best  aid  to  discipline  is  danger.  When 
everybody  is  exposed,  everybody  keeps  silent 
and  clings  to  the  first  man  who  gives  a  com- 
mand or  a  salutary  example. 

The  first  to  throw  himself  upon  the  caissons 
was  Timoleon.  The  serious,  self-contained  ex- 
pression did  not  leave  his  face.  But  with  sur- 
prising agility  he  jumped  for  a  wheel  about  to 
flame  up.  Lacking  water,  he  extinguished  it 
with  his  coat,  his  hands  and  his  breast  which  he 
leaned  against  it.  At  first  we  thought  he  was 
lost.  But  coming  to  his  aid  we  found  the 
wheel  blackened  and  out,  his  coat  burned,  and 
his  left  hand  a  little  dusted  with  black.  For 
the  rest  he  was  entirely  intact  and  calm. 

In  an  instant  all  the  caissons  were  torn  out 
of  the  dangerous  court  and  run  outside  the 
fortress  in  the  plain  of  the  polygon.  Each  gun- 
ner, each  soldier,  each  officer  harnessed  himself, 
[177] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

tugged,  rolled,  pushed  the  redoubtable  wagons 
with  hands  and  feet,  shoulders  and  foreheads. 

The  pumps  flooded  the  little  powder  house 
through  the  black  gash  in  its  breast.  It  was 
split  on  all  sides.  Twice  it  leaned  forward  and 
backward.  Then  its  flanks  curled  open  like 
the  bark  of  a  big  tree,  and  toppling  over,  it 
showed  up  a  sort  of  oven,  blackened  and  smok- 
ing, in  which  nothing  had  any  recognisable 
form.  Every  weapon,  every  shell  in  it  had 
been  reduced  to  a  reddish-grey  powder,  diluted 
in  frothing  water ;  a  kind  of  lava  in  which  blood, 
iron,  lead,  had  mixed  into  living  mortar  that 
flowed  out  into  the  courts,  burning  the  grass 
where  it  ran. 

The  danger  was  over.  Remained  to  recon- 
noitre and  to  count  noses. 

"That  must  have  been  heard  in  Paris," 
said  Timoleon,  wringing  my  hand.  "I  am  go- 
ing to  write  her,  to  reassure  her.  There  is 
nothing  left  to  be  done  here." 

He  did  not  speak  another  word  to  anybody 
and  returned  to  our  tiny  white  house  with 
the  green  blinds,  as  if  he  had  come  back  from 
a  himt. 


[178] 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A  SKETCH  IN  PENCIL 

When  dangers  are  past,  they  are  measured 
and  found  great.  People  are  amazed  at  their 
luck;  they  pale  with  the  fear  they  might  have 
felt.  They  applaud  not  having  been  overcome 
by  any  weakness,  and  they  feel,  upon  reflection 
and  calculation,  a  kind  of  fright  they  did  not 
think  of  in  action. 

Powder  does  extraordinary  things,  just  as 
does  lightning. 

This  explosion  had  worked  miracles  not  of 
power,  but  of  dexterity.  It  seemed  to  have 
measured  its  blows  and  picked  its  aim.  It  had 
played  with  us.  It  had  been  telling  us:  I 
will  blow  up  this  one,  but  not  those  there,  near- 
by. It  had  torn  from  the  earth  an  arcade  of 
hewn  stone,  and  had  sent  it  whole,  with  its 
foundation,  on  to  the  lawn  in  the  fields,  to  lie 
there  like  a  ruin  blackened  by  age.  It  had  sunk 
three  shells  six  feet  under  ground,  pulverised 
[179] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

f  ^^ 

pavements  with  cannon  balls,  broken  a  bronze 
cannon  in  two,  smashed  all  the  windows  and 
all  the  doors  in  all  the  rooms,  blown  the  huge 
shutters  of  the  big  powder  house  to  the  roof 
without  a  grain  of  the  powder  in  it.  It  had 
rolled  ten  great  stone  street  posts  around  like 
the  pawns  of  a  topsy-turvy  chessboard.  It  had 
burst  the  iron  chains  that  hung  between  them 
the  way  silk  threads  are  broken,  twisting  the 
links  like  hemp  rope.  It  had  littered  the  court 
with  broken  gunlimbers,  and  encrusted  the 
brickwork  with  pyramids  of  cannon  balls.  But, 
under  the  cannon  closest  to  the  destroyed  pow- 
der house,  it  had  spared  the  white  hen  and  her 
chicks  we  had  been  looking  at  the  evening  be- 
fore. When  that  hen  stepped  peacefully  from 
her  nest  with  her  little  ones,  the  shouts  of  joy 
from  our  men  acclaimed  her  as  an  old  friend 
and  they  ran  to  pet  her  like  heedless  children. 

She  turned  about  clucking,  gathering  her 
brood  and  still  wearing  her  little  red  plume 
and  her  silver  necklace.  She  seemed  to  be  wait- 
ing for  the  master  that  brought  her  food,  and 
ran  excitedly  around  om'  feet,  with  the  little 
chicks  all  about  her.  By  following  her  we 
came  upon  a  dreadful  sight. 

At  the  foot  of  the  chapel  lay  the  head  and 
[180] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  VINCENNES 


chest  of  the  poor  Adjutant,  without  trunk  or 
arms.  The  foot  I  had  stumbled  over  in  coming 
had  been  his.  The  unfortunate  fellow,  no 
doubt,  had  not  been  able  to  resist  the  desire 
to  visit  his  powder  kegs  and  count  his  shells 
once  more.  And  either  the  steel  on  his  boots 
or  a  rolling  pebble — something,  some  motion — 
had  set  everything  aflame. 

Like  a  stone  from  a  slingshot  his  head  and 
chest  had  been  hurled  against  the  church  wall 
to  a  height  of  sixty  feet,  and  the  powder  with 
which  this  frightful  bust  had  been  impregnated 
had  graved  its  form  in  lasting  outline  upon 
the  wall  to  the  base  of  which  it  had  rebounded. 
We  gazed  long  at  it.  No  one  spoke  a  word  of 
commiseration.  Perhaps  because  to  pity  him 
would  have  been  to  take  pity  on  ourselves 
for  having  run  the  same  risk.  The  surgeon- 
major,  alone,  said:     "He  has  not  suffered!" 

As  to  myself,  it  seemed  to  me  he  was  suffer- 
ing still.  But  in  spite  of  that,  half  through 
unconquerable  curiosity,  half  through  a  young 
officer's  bravado,  I  sketched  him. 

Things  happen  this  way  in  a  community 

from  which  sensitiveness  is  done  away  with. 

One  of  the  bad  sides  of  the  fighting  trade  is 

this  excessive  strength  to  which  we  always  try 

[181] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

to  strain  our  character.  We  exert  ourselves 
to  harden  our  hearts,  to  hide  pity,  lest  it  re- 
semble weakness.  We  make  an  effort  to  dis- 
semble the  divine  emotion  of  compassion,  with- 
out thinking  that  forcibly  locking  up  a  good 
sentiment  is  to  stifle  the  prisoner. 

At  the  moment  I  thought  myself  very  hate- 
ful. My  young  heart  swelled  with  grief  at 
this  death,  and  yet  with  obstinate  tranquillity 
I  kept  at  the  drawing  which  I  still  have,  and 
which  now  and  again  causes  me  remorse  for 
having  made  it  as  it  sometimes  reminds  me  of 
the  modest  life  of  this  fine  soldier. 

The  noble  head  was  only  a  thing  of  horror, 
a  sort  of  Medusa  head.  Its  colour  was  like 
black  marble.  The  hair  bristling,  the  eyebrows 
lifted  high  on  the  forehead,  the  eyes  closed, 
the  mouth  gaping  as  if  uttering  a  scream. 
Sculptured  on  the  black  bust  was  the  terror  of 
flames  that  suddenly  leaped  from  the  earth. 
One  felt  that  he  had  had  time  for  this  terror 
quick  as  the  powder  itself,  and  perhaps  time 
for  incalculable  suffering. 

"Has  he  had  time  to  think  of  Providence?" 
droned  the  peaceable  voice  of  Timoleon  d'Arc. 
.  .  .  Over  my  shoulder  he  had  been   peer- 
ing at  my  sketch  through  an  eyeglass. 
[182] 


THE  VIGIL  OF  ^  INCENNES 


At  the  same  moment  a  gay  trooper,  fresh, 
pink  and  blond,  bent  down  to  take  the  black 
silk  cravat  from  this  smoke-blackened  torso. 

"It  is  still  quite  good,"  he  said. 

He  was  a  decent  boy  of  my  own  company, 
Muguet  by  name,  who  had  two  chevrons  on 
his  sleeve,  no  scruples  and  no  gloomy  notion 
whatever.  Furthermore,  he  was  the  best  son 
in  the  world!    That  broke  our  train  of  thought. 

A  big  noise  of  horses  finally  came  to  distract 
us.  It  was  the  King!  Louis  XVIII  came  in 
a  coach  to  thank  his  Guard  for  having  saved 
him  his  old  soldiers  and  his  old  castle.  For  a 
long  time  he  stood  taking  in  the  strange  im- 
print upon  the  wall.  All  the  troops  were  in 
battle  order.  He  raised  his  strong,  clear  voice 
to  ask  the  battalion  commander  which  officers 
or  soldiers  had  distinguished  themselves. 

"Everybody  has  done  his  duty,  Sire!'*  an- 
swered Monsieur  de  Fontanges  simply.  He 
was  the  most  chivalrous  and  lovable  officer  I 
have  known ;  a  man  of  the  world,  who  gave  me 
the  best  idea  what  might  be  the  manner  of 
the  Duke  de  Lauzun  or  the  Chevalier  de  Gram- 
mont.  Upon  which  the  King  pulled  from  his 
coach,  instead  of  crosses  of  honour,  piles  of  gold 
which  he  had  distributed  among  the  soldiers, 
[183] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

and,  crossing  Vincennes,  he  went  back  through 
the  woods. 

The  ranks  were  broken,  the  explosion  was 
forgotten.  No  one  thought  of  being  dissatis- 
fied, nor  of  having  deserved  more  than  another. 
In  fact,  we  had  been  a  crew  saving  our  ship  to 
save  ourselves,  that  was  all.  Nevertheless,  I 
have  since  seen  lesser  valour  better  accounted 
for. 

I  thought  of  the  family  of  the  poor  Adju- 
tant. But  I  thought  alone.  Generally,  when 
Kings  pass  somewhere,  they  pass  too  swiftly. 


[184] 


BOOK  IV 

THE   LIFE    AND    DEATH   OF 

CAPTAIN  RENAUD 

OR 

THE  MALACCA  CANE 


BOOK  IV:   THE  LIFE  AND  DEATH 
OF  CAPTAIN  RENAUD, 

OR 
THE  MALACCA  CANE 

CHAPTER  I 
BETROSPECT 

How  often  did  we  see  obscure  accidents  thus 
end  modest  lives  which  would  have  been  sus- 
tained and  nurtured  by  the  collective  glory  of 
the  Empire !  Our  Army  had  garnered  the  in- 
valids of  the  Grande  Armee,  and  they  died  in 
our  arms,  leaving  us  the  memory  of  their  primi- 
tive, singular  characters.  These  men  seemed 
to  us  like  the  remnants  of  a  giant  race  which, 
man  by  man,  was  fast  becoming  extinct.  We 
loved  what  was  good  and  honest  in  their  cus- 
toms. But  our  more  studious  generation  could 
not  help  noticing  sometimes  in  them  little  child- 
ish and  old-fashioned  traits  that  the  idleness  of 
peace  caused  to  crop  out  before  our  eyes.  To 
us  the  Army  seemed  a  body  without  motion. 
[187] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

We  suffocated  in  the  belly  of  this  wooden  horse 
which  never  opened  in  any  Troy.  You  remem- 
ber it,  you,  my  comrades;  we  never  stopped 
studying  the  Commentaries  of  Csesar,  Tu- 
renne  and  Frederick  II  and  we  were  forever 
reading  the  lives  of  those  Generals  of  the  Re- 
public that  were  so  utterly  infatuated  with 
glory,  those  candid  and  poverty-stricken  heroes 
like  Marceau,  Desaix  and  Kleber,  young  men 
of  antique  virtues  1  And  having  studied  their 
war  monoeuvres  and  their  campaigns,  we  were 
plunged  into  bitter  grief  at  measuring  our  fate 
by  theirs,  and  figuring  that  their  rise  had  be- 
come so  great  because  they  had  started  (and 
that  at  twenty)  at  the  top  of  that  ladder  of 
ranks  each  rung  of  which  cost  us  eight  years 
to  ascend.  You  whom  I  have  seen  suffer  so 
much  from  the  languors  and  aversions  of  mili- 
tary servitude,  it  is  for  you  particularly  that 
I  write  this  book.  And  therefore,  beside  the 
reminiscences  in  which  I  have  shown  some  of 
the  good  and  honest  traits  in  Army  life,  but 
in  which  I  have  also  sketched  some  of  the  little 
hardships  of  that  existence,  I  want  to  place 
the  memories  that  may  lift  up  our  heads  by 
the  research  and  the  contemplation  of  its  mag- 
nificence. 

[188] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


Warlike  magnificence,  or  the  beauty  of  life 
at  arms,  is  of  two  kinds,  I  think:  the  one  of 
commanding,  the  other  of  obeying.  The  one, 
all  outward,  active,  dazzling,  proud,  selfish  and 
capricious,  will  grow  rarer  and  less  desired  day 
by  day,  in  the  same  measure  that  civilisation 
is  growing  more  peaceable.  The  other,  all  in- 
ward, passive,  obscure,  modest,  devoted  and 
persevering,  will  become  more  honoured  each 
day.  For  to-day,  when  the  spirit  of  conquest 
is  waning,  all  of  greatness  a  lofty  mind  may 
bring  to  the  profession  of  Arms  seems  less  the 
glory  of  fighting  than  the  honour  of  suffering 
in  silence  and  of  fulfilling  with  constancy  tasks 
that  are  often  odious. 

If  the  month  of  July,  1830,  had  its  heroes, 
it  also  had  its  martyrs  among  you,  my  brave 
comrades!  At  present  you  are  all  separated 
and  scattered.  Many  among  you  are  retired 
in  silence  after  the  storm  beneath  your  family 
roof.  However  poor  it  was  at  times,  many 
have  preferred  it  to  the  shadow  of  a  flag  other 
than  their  own.  Others  have  gone  to  seek  their 
fleurs-de-lys  in  the  heather  of  Vendee  and 
once  more  have  drenched  it  with  their  blood. 
Others  have  gone  to  die  for  foreign  kings.  And 
some,  still  bleeding  from  the  wounds  of  the 
[189] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

"Three  Days,"  have  not  resisted  the  tempta- 
tions of  the  sword;  they  have  taken  it  up  again 
for  France  and  have  gained  still  more  strong- 
holds for  her.  Eveiywhere  the  same  habit  of 
giving  themselves  body  and  soul,  the  same  need 
of  self-devotion,  the  same  desire  to  carry  on 
and  to  practice,  somewhere,  the  art  of  suffering 
well,  of  dying  well ! 

But  everywhere  complaints  have  risen  from 
those  that  did  not  have  a  chance  to  fight  where 
their  lot  was  cast.  Fight  is  the  life  of  the  Army. 
Wherever  it  starts,  dreams  become  reality,  sci- 
ence becomes  glory  and  §^^"^'+11  de  becomes 
f;pj>j^r]ne.  War  consoles,  by  its  refulgence,  for 
the  unheard-of  hardships  the  lethargy  of  peace 
imposes  upon  the  slaves  of  the  Army.  But,  I 
reiterate,  it  is  not  in  battle  that  the  purest 
magnificence  lies.  I  shall  speak  often  of  you 
to  others.  But  for  once,  before  closing  this 
book,  I  want  to  tell  you  about  yourselves,  and 
of  a  life  and  death  which,  to  my  eyes,  showed 
a  splendidly  forceful  and  candid  character. 


[190] 


CHAPTER  II 
A  MEMORABLE   NIGHT 

The  night  of  July  27th,  1830,  was  silent  and 
solemn.  To  me  its  memory  is  fresher  than  that 
of  more  frightful  pictures  fate  has  flung  before 
my  eyes. 

The  quiet  on  land  and  sea  before  the  tempest 
has  no  greater  majesty  than  had  Paris  before 
the  Revolution.  The  boulevards  were  deserted. 
Alone,  after  midnight,  I  walked  their  entire 
length,  looking  and  listening  avidly.  The  clear 
sky  shed  over  the  earth  the  white  gleam  of  her 
stars,  but  the  houses  were  lightless,  shut  and 
like  dead.  All  the  street  lamps  were  broken. 
Some  groups  of  workmen  still  clustered  about 
trees,  listening  to  a  mysterious  orator  who 
slipped  them  secret  words  in  a  low  voice.  Then 
they  would  separate  on  the  run  and  slink  into 
narrow,  black  little  streets.  They  would  re- 
main glued  against  alley  doors,  that  would 
open  like  a  trap  and  close  after  them.  Then 
[191] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

nothing  more  stirred  and  the  city  seemed  to 
have  none  but  dead  inhabitants  and  pest- 
blighted  dwellings. 

At  intervals  I  would  encounter  a  dark,  mo- 
tionless mass,  unrecognisable  until  I  almost 
ran  into  it :  it  was  a  battalion  of  the  Guard,  up- 
right, motionless,  voiceless.  Farther  on,  an 
artillery  battery,  with  the  fuses  ready  lighted 
over  the  guns,  like  twin  stars. 

One  passed  with  impunity  in  front  of  these 
sombre  and  imposing  corps.  One  walked 
around  them,  one  left  tliem,  one  returned, 
without  provoking  a  question,  an  oath,  a  word. 
They  were  inoffensive,  ruthless  and  ungrudg- 
ing. 

As  I  approached  one  of  the  largest  squads, 
an  officer  came  forward  and  in  an  extremely 
courteous  manner  asked  me  if  the  flames  that 
could  be  seen  lighting  up  the  Port  of  St.  Denis 
from  afar,  were  not  incendiary.  He  was  about 
to  go  forward  with  his  troop  to  make  sure.  I 
told  him  the  flames  came  from  some  big  trees 
cut  down  and  burned  by  tradesmen  who  took 
advantage  of  the  trouble  to  destroy  those  an- 
cient elms  that  had  hidden  their  shops. 

Then,  sitting  down  on  one  of  the  stone 
benches  along  the  boulevard,  he  started  to  draw 
[192] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


lines  and  circles  in  the  sand  with  a  malacca 
cane.  I  recognised  him  by  this,  and  at  the 
same  time  he  recognised  my  face.  As  I  re- 
mained standing  before  him,  he  shook  hands 
with  me,  and  begged  me  to  sit  down  beside 
him. 

Captain  Renaud  was  a  rigid  and  severe  man 
of  most  cultivated  mind,  like  many  who  were 
in  the  Guards  at  that  period.  His  character 
and  habits  were  very  well  known  to  us,  and 
those  who  read  these  reminiscences,  well  know 
on  which  serious  face  they  must  place  his  nom 
de  guerre,  given  him  by  the  soldiers,  adopted 
by  the  officers  and  indifferently  accepted  by  the 
man  himself.  Like  the  old  families,  the  old 
regiments  keep  intact  during  peace,  take  on 
familiar  habits  and  invent  characteristic  names 
for  their  children. 

An  old  wound  in  the  right  leg  had  caused 
the  captain's  habit  of  leaning  always  on  his 
malacca  cane,  which  had  a  very  remarkable 
head,  that  attracted  the  attention  of  all  that  saw 
it  for  the  first  time.  He  kept  it  by  him  every- 
where, in  his  hand  most  of  the  time.  There  was 
not  the  slightest  affectation  in  this  habit.  His 
manner  was  too  simple  and  grave.  Neverthe- 
less, (me  felt  he  had  an  affection  for  it. 
[193] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

He  was  greatly  honoured  in  the  Guard. 
Without  ambition  and  wishing  to  be  no  other 
than  he  was,  a  Grenadier  Captain,  he  was  for- 
ever reading,  spoke  as  little  as  possible  and  then 
in  monosyllables.  Very  tall,  very  pale,  melan- 
choly of  face,  on  his  forehead  between  the  eye- 
brows there  was  a  little  scar ;  quite  a  deep  one. 
Often  it  used  to  change  from  bluish  to  black 
in  colour,  and  sometimes  gave  a  ferocious  look 
to  his  habitually  cold  and  peaceable  features. 

The  soldiers  had  a  great  liking  for  him,  and 
particularly  during  the  Spanish  campaign  one 
remarked  the  joy  with  which  they  went  out 
when  the  detachments  were  commanded  by  the 
Malacca  Cane.  It  actually  was  the  malacca 
cane  that  commanded  them.  For  Captain 
Renaud  never  drew  his  sword,  not  even  when, 
at  the  head  of  his  skirmishers,  he  would  get 
close  enough  to  the  enemy  to  run  the  risk  of 
hand-to-hand  combat. 

He  w^as  not  only  a  man  experienced  in  war- 
fare, but  one  who  had  besides  so  keen  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  biggest  political  affairs  in  Europe 
during  the  Empire  that  people  did  not  know 
how  to  account  for  it.  Sometimes  it  would  be 
attributed  to  profound  studies,  and  again  to 
high  relations  of  long  standing;  his  perpetual 
[194] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


reserve  prevented  people  from  knowing  how 
he  came  by  it.  Besides,  the  dominating  char- 
acter of  the  men  of  to-day  is  this  same  reserve 
— and  the  Captain  carried  this  general  trait 
to  an  extreme.  At  present  an  appearance  of 
cold  politeness  covers  both  character  and  ac- 
tions. Therefore,  I  believe  that  few  of  us 
will  recognise  ourselves  beneath  the  mad  por- 
traits that  have  been  drawn  of  us.  In  France 
affectation  is  more  ridiculous  than  anywhere 
else,  and  it  is  doubtless  for  that  reason  that,  far 
from  exhibiting  by  one's  actions  and  speech  the 
^cess  force  which  passions  give  us,  each  one 
seeks  to  quell  within  himself  any  display  of 
violent  emotion,  a  deep  sorrow,  or  an  involun- 
tary outburst.  I  do  not  think  that  civilisation 
has  stirred  up  everything ;  I  seem  rather  to  see 
that  it  has  enveloped  all. 

I  like  this  reserve  of  our  epoch.  There  is  a 
modesty  in  this  apparent  coldness,  and  genuine 
sentiment  has  need  of  that.  Disdain  also  enters 
into  it — good  coin  that,  with  which  to  pay  the 
things  of  life. 

We  have  already  lost  many  friends  whose 

memory  still  lives  among  us;  you  remember 

them  well,  my  dear  brothers  in  arms.     Some 

died  in  wars,  others  from  duels,  others  by  sui- 

[195] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

cide;  all  of  them  men  of  honour  and  strong 
character ;  but  headstrong  beneath  their  simple, 
cold  and  reserved  appearance.  Ambition,  love, 
gaming,  hatred,  jealousy — all  gnawed  within 
them,  but  they  never  talked  much,  or  when  they 
did,  skilfully  turned  any  direct  enquiry  that 
might  touch  the  bleeding  wound  in  their  hearts. 
They  never  sought  to  make  themselves  re- 
marked in  drawing-rooms  by  their  tragic  atti- 
tudes; and  if  some  young  woman  fresh  from 
the  perusal  of  a  novel  had  seen  them  submissive 
and  disciplined  to  the  customary  bows  and  low- 
voiced  conversations  so  prevalent,  she  certainly 
would  have  disdained  them ;  and  yet  they  lived 
and  died,  as  strong  men  as  nature  ever  pro- 
duced. Cato  and  Brutus  were  none  other  in 
spite  of  the  togas  that  adorned  them. 

Our  passions  are  as  energetic  as  those  of  any 
period,  but  it  is  only  by  the  sign  of  their  fa- 
tigue that  a  friendly  eye  can  discern  them.  The 
exterior  appearance,  the  conversations,  the 
manners,  all  have  a  certain  cold  dignity  which 
is  common  to  all  and  which  is  cast  aside  but  by 
few  children  who  wish  to  grow  and  make  them- 
selves known  in  spite  of  all. 

There  is  no  profession  wherein  the  coldness 
of  the  forms  of  speech  and  habits  contrasts 
[196] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


more  vividly  with  the  activity  of  the  life,  than 
in  the  army.  The  hatred  for  exaggeration  is 
a  cult,  and  disgust  is  shown  for  any  man  who 
seeks  to  magnify  a  feeling,  or  to  court  sympa- 
thy for  his  suffering.  I  knew  this,  and  made 
ready  to  leave  Captain  Renaud  quickly,  when 
he  took  my  arm  and  held  me  back : 

"Did  you  see  the  drill  of  the  Suisses^  this 
morning?  It  was  very  curious.  They  exe- 
cuted hollow  square  fire  while  advancing,  with 
perfect  accuracy.  Since  I  have  been  in  the 
service  I  have  never  seen  it  done.  It  is  a 
drill  for  the  parade  or  for  the  opera.  But  in 
the  streets  of  a  big  city  it  may  be  worth  while, 
provided  the  right  and  left  sections  quickly 
form  in  front  of  the  platoon  that  has  just 
fired." 

He  continued  tracing  lines  on  the  ground 
with  the  tip  of  his  cane  while  talking.  Then 
he  got  up  slowly,  and  as  he  walked  along  the 
boulevard  with  the  intention  of  going  away 
from  the  group  of  officers  and  soldiers,  I  fol- 
lowed him.  He  went  on  talking  to  me,  as  if 
voluntarily,  with  a  sort  of  nervous  exaltation, 
which  captivated  me,  and  I  never  would  have 

^  "Suisses/'  the  Swiss  mercenaries,  guards  of  the 
Bourbon  Kings. 

[197] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

'  "  "^ 

thought  it  of  one  who  would  be  commonly 
called  a  cold  man. 

Taking  hold  of  the  button  of  my  coat,  he 
began  with  a  very  simple  request. 
L  "Would  you  pardon  me  for  asking  you  to 
send  me  your  gorget  of  the  Royal  Guard,  if 
you  have  kept  it?  I  have  left  mine  at  home  and 
I  can't  send  for  it,  nor  go  for  it  myself,  because 
the  people  kill  us  in  the  streets  like  mad  dogs. 
But  in  the  three  or  four  years  since  you  have 
left  the  Army,  you  have  done  away  with  it  per- 
haps? I  too  had  tendered  my  resignation  two 
weeks  ago,  for  I  am  very  weary  of  the  Army. 
But  day  before  yesterday,  when  I  read  the  or- 
ders, I  said:  They  are  taking  up  arms!  So  I 
bundled  up  my  uniform,  my  shoulder  straps 
and  my  bearskin  grenadier's  cap,  and  went  into 
the  barracks  to  rejoin  those  fine  fellows  who  are 
going  to  be  killed  on  every  corner,  and  that 
surely  would  have  thought,  at  the  bottom  of 
their  hearts,  that  I  left  them  in  the  lurch  in 
a  moment  of  crisis.  It  would  have  been  against 
Honour,  would  it  not,  entirely  against  Hon- 
our?" 

"Had  you  foreseen  the  orders  before  your 
resignation?"  I  answered. 

"My  Lord,  no!    I  have  not  even  read  them 
v.et." 

[198] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


"Well  then,  why  do  you  reproach  yourself?" 

"Only  because  of  appearances.  I  don't  want 
appearances  even  to  be  against  me." 

"That  is  admirable,"  I  said. 

"Admirable !  Admirable !"  Captain  Renaud 
walked  faster.  Spoke  faster  too.  "That  is 
the  phrase  to-day.  What  a  childish  phrase !  I 
detest  admiration.  It  is  the  cause  of  too  many 
bad  actions.  It  is  given  too  cheaply  these  days, 
and  to  everybody.  We  had  better  beware  of 
admiring  too  lightly." 

There  was  a  pause.    Then: 

"Admiration  is  corrupted  and  corrupting. 
People  should  do  for  the  doing,  not  for  the 
noise  it  makes.  Moreover  I  have  some  ideas  of 
my  own  on  this."  He  broke  off  brus^ly  and 
was  about  to  leave  me. 

"There  is  something  quite  as  fine  as  a  great 
man,"  I  said  to  him,  "and  that  is  a  man  of 
Honour." 

He  took  my  hand  affectionately.  "We  share 
that  opinion.  I  have  put  it  in  practice  all  my 
life.  But  it  has  cost  me  dearly.  It  is  not  as 
easy  as  it  looks!"    He  spoke  nervously. 

The  sub-lieutenant  of  his  company  came  up 
to  ask  him  for  a  cigar.  He  pulled  several  from 
his  pocket  and  gave  them  to  him  without  speak- 
[199] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

ing.  The  officers  began  to  smoke,  tramping 
back  and  forth  in  a  silence  and  serenity  the 
memory  of  the  attending  circumstances  failed 
to  break.  For  no  one  deigned  to  talk  of  the 
dangers  of  the  day,  nor  of  his  duty,  thoroughly 
realising  both  the  one  and  the  other. 

Captain  Renaud  came  back  to  me.  "Fine 
weather,"  he  said  to  me,  pointing  his  malacca 
cane  at  the  sky.  "I  don't  know  when  I'll  stop 
seeing  the  same  stars  every  night.  Once  I  hap- 
pened to  imagine  that  I  might  see  those  of  the 
South  Sea.  But  I  was  destined  not  to  change 
hemispheres.  No  matter  I  It  is  superb  weather. 
The  Parisians  are  asleep  or  make  beheve  they 
are.  None  of  us  has  eaten  nor  drunk  for  twen- 
ty-four hours.  That  makes  the  thoughts  very 
clear.  I  remember  a  day,  going  into  Spain, 
when  you  asked  why  I  had  advanced  so  little. 
I  had  no  time  to  tell  you  then.  But  to-night  I 
feel  tempted  to  come  back  to  my  life  that  I  have 
been  going  over  again  in  memory.  You  like 
stories,  I  remember.  And  in  your  retired  life 
you  will  like  to  remember  us.  If  you  care  to 
sit  down  on  this  parapet  of  the  boulevard  with 
me,  we  will  be  able  to  talk  very  quietly,  for 
it  seems  to  me  the  people  have  stopped  taking 
pot-shots  at  us  from  windows  and  cellar  vents. 
[200] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


"I  shall  tell  you  only  about  a  few  periods  of 
my  life  and  I  shall  follow  only  my  whim.  I 
have  seen  much  and  read  much,  but  I  do  not 
believe  I  should  be  able  to  write.  It  is  not  my 
trade,  thank  God!  and  I  have  never  tried  it. 
But  I  know  how  to  live  and  I  have  lived  the 
way  I  had  resolved  to  (from  the  moment  I  had 
the  courage  to  resolve),  and  that,  truly,  is 
something.    Let  us  sit  down!" 

Slowly  I  followed.  We  went  through  the 
battalion  to  pass  to  the  left  of  these  fine  grena- 
diers. They  stood  upright,  gravely,  chins  on 
the  rifle  muzzles.  A  few  youngsters,  more  fa- 
tigued by  the  day  than  the  others,  had  sat  down 
on  their  knapsacks.  They  were  all  silent,  and 
coolly  busy  with  repairing  their  gear  or  making 
it  more  correct.  Nothing  indicated  worry  or 
discontent.  They  were  in  their  ranks,  as 
after  a  day  of  review,  and  awaited  orders. 

When  we  were  seated,  our  old  friend  began 
and  in  his  own  fashion  told  me  of  three  great 
epochs  that  gave  me  an  understanding  of  his 
life,  and  explained  his  bizarre  habits  and  the 
sombreness  in  his  character. 

Nothing  he  has  told  me  has  been  wiped  from 
my  memory.  I  will  repeat  it  almost  word  for 
word. 

[201  "^ 


CHAPTER  III 


MALTA 


I  DO  not  count,  he  said  first.  At  present,  it  is 
a  pleasure  for  me  to  think  so.  But  if  I  were 
somebody,  I  might  say  like  Louis  XIV :  I  loved 
war  too  well. 

What  are  you  going  to  do?  Bonaparte 
had  gone  to  my  head  so  violently  that  there 
was  no  room  in  my  brain  for  another  thought. 
My  father,  an  elderly  superior  officer,  always  in 
camp,  was  quite  unknown  to  me.  Then  one  day 
he  had  the  fancy  to  take  me  to  Egypt  with 
him.  I  was  twelve  years  old,  and  have  remem- 
bered, since  that  day  as  if  it  were  to-day,  the 
sentiments  of  the  whole  Army  and  those  that 
took  hold  of  my  own  mind.  Two  spirits  swelled 
the  sails  of  our  bark ;  the  spirit  of  glory  and  the 
spirit  of  piracy.  My  father  heeded  the  latter 
no  more  than  the  northwester  that  blew  us 
along,  but  the  former  buzzed  in  my  ears  so 
strongly  that  it  made  me  deaf  to  the  noises 
[202] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


of  the  world  for  a  long  time,  except  to  the 
music  of  Charles  XII,  the  cannon. 

The  cannon,  to  me,  was  the  voice  of  Bona- 
parte. And  child  as  I  was,  when  it  roared  I 
would  grow  red  with  joy.  I  would  jump  for 
pleasure,  clap  my  hands  at  it  and  respond  to 
it  with  loud  yells.  These  first  emotions  pre- 
pared the  exaggerated  enthusiasm  that  became 
the  purpose  and  the  folly  of  my  life.  One 
memorable  encounter  decided  this  sort  of  fatal 
admiration,  this  mad  admiration  for  which  I 
wanted  to  sacrifice  too  much. 

The  fleet  weighed  anchor  on  the  thirtieth  of 
Flore al  in  the  year  VI.  The  first  day  and 
night  I  spent  on  the  bridge  to  bathe  in  the 
happiness  of  seeing  the  blue  ocean  and  all  our 
ships.  I  counted  one  hundred  hulls  and  I  could 
not  count  all  of  them.  Our  military  line  was 
a  mile  long,  and  the  half  circle  the  convoy 
formed  was  at  least  six  miles. 

I  said  nothing.  I  saw  Corsica  pass  by  very 
close,  trailing  Sardinia  in  its  wake,  and  present- 
ly Sicily  arrived  to  our  left.  The  Juno, 
which  carried  my  father  and  me,  was  to  re- 
connoitre the  way  and  form  a  vanguard  with 
three  other  frigates. 

My  father  held  my  hand,  and  showed  me 
[203] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

Mount  ^tna  all  in  smoke,  and  other  rocks  I 
will  never  forget.  They  were  Favaniane  and 
Mount  Eryx.  Marsala,  the  ancient  Lilybgeum, 
passed  in  its  vapours.  Its  white  houses  I  took 
for  doves  piercing  a  cloud.  And  one  morning, 
it  was  .  .  .  yes,  it  was  the  twenty-fourth  of 
Prairial,  I  saw  at  daybreak  come  before  me 
a  spectacle  which  has  dazzled  me  for  twenty 
years. 

Malta  rose  up  with  its  fortresses,  its  cannon 
level  with  the  water,  its  long  walls  shining  in 
the  sun  like  newly  polished  marble,  and  its 
swarm  of  narrow  galleys  were  run  with  long 
red  oars.  One  hundred  and  ninety-four  French 
ships  enveloped  it  with  their  huge  sails  and 
blue,  red  and  white  standards,  which  at  that 
moment  were  hoisted  on  every  mast.  And  on 
the  Gozo  and  Fort  Saint-Elme  the  religious 
standard  were  slowly  lowered :  It  was  the  last 
militant  cross  to  fall.  Then  the  fleet  fired  five 
hundred  salutes. 

The  ship  Orient  was  ahead,  alone,  apart, 
grand  and  motionless.  Before  it  passed  the 
other  war  vessels  one  by  one,  and  slowly.  From 
a  distance  I  saw  Desaix  saluting  Bonaparte. 
We  went  to  him  on  board  the  Orient.  At 
last  I  saw  him,  for  the  first  time. 
[204] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


He  stood  near  the  rail,  talking  to  Casa- 
Bianca,  captain  of  the  ship  (poor  Orient). 
He  played  with  the  locks  of  a  child  of  ten,  the 
eaptain's  son. 

Instantly  I  became  jealous  of  that  child  and 
my  heart  jumped  to  see  it  touch  the  general's 
sword.  My  father  went  towards  Bonaparte 
and  talked  to  him  a  long  time.  I  could  not 
see  his  face  yet. 

Suddenly  he  turned  and  looked  at  me.  A 
quiver  went  through  all  my  body  at  the  sight 
of  his  sallow  brow  overhung  with  long  hair  that 
seemed  all  wet,  as  if  coming  out  of  the  water; 
at  his  big  grey  eyes,  his  thin  cheeks  and  that  re- 
ceding lip  above  his  sharp  chin. 

He  had  just  been  talking  of  me,  for  he  said: 
— "Listen,  mon  brave,  you  shall  come  to 
Egypt  since  you  want  to,  and  'General  Vaubois 
can  stay  here  with  his  four  thousand  men  with- 
out you.  But  I  don't  like  men  to  take  along 
their  children.  I  have  permitted  it  only  to 
Casa-Bianca  and  I  was  wrong.  You  must  send 
this  one  back  to  France.  I  want  him  to  be 
strong  in  mathematics.  And  if  anything  hap- 
pens to  you  out  there,  I  will  answer  for  him 
myself.  I  take  charge  of  him.  I  shall  make 
a  good  soldier  out  of  him." 
[205] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

At  the  same  moment  he  stooped  down  and, 
taking  me  up  under  the  arms,  he  lifted  me  as 
high  as  his  lips  and  kissed  my  forehead.  My 
head  was  turned  then  and  there.  I  knew  he 
was  my  master  and  that  he  took  my  soul  away 
from  my  father — ^whom  I  scarcely  knew  for 
that  matter,  because  he  lived  with  the  Army 
eternally. 

I  thought  I  felt  the  awe  of  Moses,  the  shep- 
herd, beholding  God  in  the  burning  bush. 
Bonaparte  had  lifted  me,  free,  and  when  his 
arms  gently  lowered  me  on  the  bridge,  they  put 
down  another  slave. 

The  day  before  I  would  have  jumped  over- 
board if  they  had  taken  me  away  from  the 
Army.  But  now  I  let  myself  be  taken  where- 
ever  they  pleased.  I  left  my  father  indifferent- 
ly. And  it  was  forever !  But  we  are  so  bred 
right  from  childhood,  and  it  takes  so  little 
to  lead  us  away  from  our  good  natural  senti- 
ments. My  father  was  no  longer  my  master, 
because  I  had  beheld  his  own,  and  from  him 
alone  emanated  all  authority  on  earth,  it 
seemed  to  me! 

Oh  dreams  of  authority  and  of  bondage! 
Oh  corrupting  thought  of  power,  serving  to 
seduce  children!  False  enthusiasms!  Subtile 
[206] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


poisons,  what  antidote  can  ever  be  found 
against  you  ? 

I  was  dazzled,  drunk!  I  wanted  to  work, 
and  I  worked  unto  madness !  I  figured  day  and 
night,  and  I  took  on  the  coat,  the  knowledge 
and  the  sallow  complexion  of  the  school. 

Now  and  then  the  cannon  would  interrupt 
me,  and  this  voice  of  the  demi-god  told  me  of 
the  conquest  of  Egypt,  of  Marengo,  of  the 
18th  of  Brumairej  the  Empire  .  .  •  and  the 
Emperor  kept  his  word  to  me!  As  to  my 
father,  I  no  longer  knew  what  had  become  of 
him,  until  one  day  this  letter  here  reached  me. 

I  always  carry  it  in  this  old  portfolio,  that 
once  was  red.  I  reread  it  often  to  convince 
myself  thoroughly  of  the  uselessness  of  the 
advice  one  generation  gives  to  the  next,  and 
to  reflect  upon  the  headstrong  absurdity  of  my 
illusions. 

The  Captain  here  opened  his  uniform  and 
drew  from  his  breast  first  a  handkerchief  and 
then  a  small  portfolio  which  he  opened  with 
care.  We  went  into  a  still  lighted  cafe  where  he 
read  to  me  these  fragments  of  letters  which 
since  then  have  never  left  me. 

You  will  soon  know  why. 
[207] 


CHAPTER  IV 
A  SIMPLE  LETTER 

On  board  the  British  Vessel  Cul- 
loden  before  Roehefort,  1804. 

Sent  to  France  with  Admiral  CoUingwood's 
permission. 

It  is  useless  for  you  to  know,  my  boy,  how 
this  letter  will  reach  you,  and  by  what  means 
I  have  been  able  to  learn  of  your  conduct  and 
of  your  present  position.  Suffice  it  to  say  that 
I  am  satisfied  with  you,  but  that  no  doubt  I 
shall  never  see  you  again.  Probably  that  won't 
trouble  you  much.  You  knew  your  father 
only  at  the  age  when  memory  was  not  yet  born 
and  when  the  heart  was  not  yet  awake.  It 
opens  later  within  us  than  people  generally  be- 
lieve, and  I  have  often  wondered  about  that. 
But  what  can  we  do  about  it? — You  are  no 
worse  than  any  other,  it  seems  to  me.  So  I 
have  to  be  satisfied. 

All  I  have  to  tell  you  is  that  I  have  been  a 
[208] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


prisoner  of  the  British  since  Thermidor  14th 
of  the  year  VI  (or  August  2nd,  1798,  by  the 
old  calendar,  which  people  say  has  come  in 
vogue  again  these  days) .  I  had  gone  on  board 
the  Orient  to  try  and  persuade  our  brave 
Brueys  to  weigh  anchor  for  Corfu.  Bonaparte 
had  already  sent  me  his  poor  aide-de-camp, 
Julien,  who  was  foolish  enough  to  let  the  Arabs 
capture  him.  I  arrived,  but  in  vain.  Brueys 
was  obstinate  as  a  mule.  He  said  they  were 
going  to  find  the  passage  of  Alexandria  for  the 
ships  to  go  through.  But  he  added  a  few 
rather  proud  words  which  showed  me  that  at 
heart  he  was  a  little  jealous  of  the  land  Army. 

"Do  they  take  us  for  ferry-men?"  he  asked 
me,  "and  do  they  beheve  we  are  afraid  of  the 
British?" 

It  would  have  been  better  for  France  had 
he  been  afraid  of  them.  But,  if  he  has  made 
mistakes,  he  has  expiated  them  gloriously. 
And  I  may  say  that  I  am  expiating  most 
wearily  the  error  I  made  in  staying  on  his  ship 
when  it  was  attacked.  Brueys  was  first 
wounded  in  the  head  and  in  the  hand.  He  kept 
on  fighting  till  the  moment  when  a  cannon  ball 
tore  out  his  entrails.  He  had  himself  put  in 
a  sack  of  bran  and  died  on  his  officers'  bench. 
[209] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

We  were  distinctly  aware  that  by  ten  in  the 
evening  we  would  blow  up.  What  remained  of 
the  crew  lowered  the  boats  and  saved  them- 
selves, with  the  exception  of  Casa-Bianca, 
Naturally  he  remained  the  last.  But  his  son,  a 
fine  boy  whom  you  have  seen,  I  believe,  came 
up  to  me  and  said : 

"Citizen,  what  does  Honour  require  me  to 
do?" 

Poor  little  fellow !  I  think  he  was  ten  years 
old,  and  babbled  of  Honour  at  such  a  moment ! 
I  took  him  on  my  lap  into  the  boat,  and  pre- 
vented him  from  seeing  his  father  blow  up  with 
the  poor  Orient,  which  scattered  into  the  air 
like  a  jet  of  flame.  We  did  not  blow  up,  but 
we  were  captured,  which  is  a  great  deal  worse. 
I  went  to  Dover  under  guard  of  a  good  Eng- 
lish captain  called  CoUingwood,  who  com- 
mands the  Culloden  at  present.  He  is  a 
brave  man  if  ever  there  was  one.  Since  1761 
when  he  entered  the  Navy  he  had  not  quit 
the  sea  more  than  two  years,  to  be  married  and 
see  his  two  daughters  born.  His  children,  of 
whom  he  talks  constantly,  don't  know  him. 
Nor  does  his  wife  know  his  splendid  character 
except  through  his  letters. 

But  I  feel  that  the  sorrow  over  this  defeat 
[210] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


at  Aboukir  has  shortened  my  days  (that  have 
been  none  too  long  at  that)  for  having  seen 
such  a  disaster  and  the  death  of  my  glorious 
comrades.  Everybody  here  has  been  touched 
by  my  great  age.  And  because  the  English 
climate  makes  me  cough  a  great  deal  and  has 
reopened  all  my  wounds  to  the  point  of  depriv- 
ing me  entirely  of  the  use  of  one  arm,  good 
Captain  CoUingwood  has  requested  and  ob- 
tained— what  he  could  not  have  obtained  for 
himself  to  whom  the  shore  is  denied — sanction 
to  transfer  me  to  Sicily,  where  the  sun  is 
warmer  and  the  sky  clearer. 

I  believe  I  shall  end  there.  For,  seventy- 
eight  years,  seven  wounds,  deep  sorrows,  and 
captivity  are  incurable  ailments.  I  had  only 
my  sword  to  leave  you,  my  poor  boy !  At  pres- 
ent I  no  longer  possess  even  that,  for  a  prisoner 
has  no  sword. 

But  at  least  there  is  one  counsel  I  may  give 
you.  It  is  to  beware  of  men  that  rise  quickly, 
and  particularly  to  beware  of  Bonaparte.  As 
far  as  I  know  you,  you  will  be  a  satellite,  and 
you  must  avoid  satellitism  because  you  are 
French,  which  means  being  most  susceptible  to 
this  contagious  disease.  The  number  of  big 
and  little  tyrants  it  has  produced  is  marvellous. 
[211] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

We  are  fond  in  the  extreme  of  swaggerers, 
and  we  give  ourselves  to  them  so  whole-heart- 
edly that  we  are  not  slow  to  rue  it  sadly  by 
and  by.  The  cause  of  this  error  is  that  we  have 
a  great  need  of  action  and  are  very  lazy  at  re- 
flection. The  consequence  is  that  we  much 
rather  give  ourselves  body  and  soul  to  him 
that  undertakes  to  think  and  be  responsible 
for  us,  even  should  we  laugh  afterwards  at 
ourselves  and  at  him. 

Bonaparte  is  a  bon  enfant,  but  he  is  truly 
too  much  of  a  charlatan.  I  am  afraid  he  will 
be  the  founder  among  us  of  a  new  method  of 
juggling.  We  have  quite  enough  of  that  in 
France.  Charlatanism  is  insolent  and  corrupt- 
ing. It  has  set  such  great  examples  in  our 
century  and  has  made  so  much  noise  with 
drums  and  fife  in  the  public  square,  that  it 
has  crept  into  every  profession,  and  there 
is  no  man  so  small  but  he  is  puffed  up  with  it. 

The  number  of  frogs  that  burst  is  uncount- 
able. I  desire  very  much  that  my  son  shall 
not  be  one  of  them. 

I  am  glad  that  he  has  kept  his  word  to  me 

*'to  take  charge  of  you,"  as  he  said  he  would. 

But  do  not  trust  in  him  too  much.    A  little 

time  after  my  sad  departure  from  Egypt,  I 

[212] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


was  told  of  this  scene  which  passed  at  a  certain 
dinner.  I  will  tell  it  to  you  so  that  you  may 
think  of  it  often. 

Being  at  Cairo,  on  Vendemiaire  1st,  year 
VII,  Bonaparte,  as  a  member  of  the  Institute, 
gave  orders  for  a  civic  festival  to  be  held  on 
the  anniversary  of  the  establisliment  of  the  Re- 
public. The  garrison  of  Alexandria  celebrated 
the  fete  around  Pompey's  columns  on  which 
was  hoisted  the  Tricolour  flag.  Cleopatra's 
needle  was  illuminated  but  rather  badly,  and 
the  troops  of  upper  Egypt  celebrated  the  fete 
as  best  they  could  between  the  columns,  the 
caryatides  of  Thebes,  on  the  knees  of  the  Colos- 
sus of  Memnon,  at  the  feet  of  the  statues  of 
Tama  and  Chama.  In  Cairo  the  first  army 
corps  manoeuvred,  held  its  races,  and  set  ojff 
fire-works. 

The  Commander  in  Chief  had  invited  to  the 
dinner  the  entire  staff,  the  sages  and  the  Kiaya 
of  the  Pacha,  as  well  as  the  Emir,  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Divan  and  the  Agas.  They  were 
gathered  around  a  table  with  five  hundred 
covers  spread  in  the  lower  hall  of  the  house 
Bonaparte  occupied  on  the  Place  El-Bequier. 
The  liberty  cap  and  the  crescent  were  entwined 
almost  loverlike.  The  Turkish  and  French 
[213] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

colours  formed  a  cradle  and  a  most  agreeable 
carpet,  on  which  the  Koran  and  the  table  of 
the  Rights  of  Man  were  happily  united. 

After  the  guests  had  dined  well — with  their 
fingers — on  chicken  and  rice  seasoned  with 
saffron,  pastries  and  fruit,  Bonaparte,  who 
had  not  spoken,  suddenly  cast  a  keen  glance 
upon  them  all.  Kleber,  who  was  lying  beside 
him  because  he  could  not  fold  his  long  legs 
Turkish  fashion,  nudged  Abdallah  Menou,  his 
neighbour  on  the  other  side,  with  his  elbow,  and 
said  in  his  half  German  accent : 

**Look,  here's  Ali-Bonaparte  getting  ready 
to  give  us  one  of  his  speeches !" 

He  called  him  that  because  at  the  fete  of 
Mohamet  the  general  had  amused  himself  by 
wearing  the  Oriental  costume,  and  at  the  mo- 
ment when  he  declared  himself  the  protector 
of  all  religion,  they  had  pompously  given  him 
the  title  of  "The  Prophet's  son-in-law"  and 
called  him  Ali-Bonaparte. 

Kleber  had  not  yet  finished  speaking  and 
was  still  running  his  fingers  through  his  heavy 
white  hair  when  little  Bonaparte  was  already 
on  his  feet.  And  raising  his  glass  to  his  meagre 
chin  and  huge  neckcloth,  he  said  in  a  brusque, 
clear,  jerky  voice: 

[214] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


"Let  us  drink  to  the  year  Three  Hundred 
of  the  French  RepubHc!" 

Kleber  burst  out  laughing  upon  Menou's 
shoulder  nearly  making  him  spill  his  glass  over 
an  old  Aga.  Bonaparte  glared  at  them  side- 
ways, frowning. 

Surely,  my  boy,  he  was  right!  For  in  the 
presence  of  a  Commander  in  Chief  a  Division 
Commander  must  not  behave  indecently,  even 
though  the  rascal  be  called  Kleber.  But  they 
were  not  altogether  wrong  either,  for  at  the 
present  moment  Bonaparte  calls  himself  Em- 
peror, and  you  are  his  page. 

Captain  Renaud  took  the  letter  from  my 
hand,  saying: 

I  had  actually  just  been  appointed  page  to 
the  Emperor  in  1804.  Ah,  what  a  terrible  year 
that  was!  What  events  did  it  bring!  How  I 
would  have  watched  it  if  I  had  known  enough 
to  watch  anything  at  the  time !  But  I  had  no 
eyes  to  see,  no  ears  to  hear  other  than  the  deeds 
of  the  Emperor,  the  voice  of  the  Emperor,  the 
gestures  of  the  Emperor,  the  very  footsteps  of 
the  Emperor!  His  approach  intoxicated  me, 
his  presence  magnetised  me.  The  glory  of  be- 
ing attached  to  that  man  seemed  to  me  the 
[215] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

greatest  thing  in  the  world  and  never  did  a 
lover  feel  the  power  of  his  mistress  with  keener 
and  more  overwhelming  emotions  than  those 
which  the  sight  of  Napoleon  gave  me  each  day. 

The  admiration  for  a  Military  Chief  be- 
comes a  passion,  a  fanaticism,  a  frenzy,  which 
makes  slaves  of  us,  madmen,  blind  men !  This 
poor  letter  I  just  gave  you  to  read  only  filled 
in  my  spirit  the  place  of  what  schoolboys  call 
a  "lecture."  I  felt  nothing  but  the  impious 
relief  of  a  child  that  finds  deliverance  from  the 
natural  authority  and  believes  itself  free,  be- 
cause it  has  chosen  the  chain  which  the  impulse 
of  the  moment  rivets  round  its  neck. 

Outside  of  that,  some  native  sense  of  de- 
cency made  me  preserve  this  sacred  writing, 
and  its  authority  over  me  has  grown  in  the  same 
measure  that  my  dreams  of  heroic  thraldom 
dwindled.  It  has  been  kept  on  my  heart  al- 
ways and  has  ended  by  sending  invisible  roots 
into  it,  the  moment  good  sense  had  lifted  from 
my  eyes  the  veil  that  covered  them  before. 
To-night  I  could  not  help  rereading  it  with  you, 
and  I  scorn  myself  to  contemplate  how  slow 
has  been  the  curve  my  thoughts  have  followed 
before  returning  to  the  simplest  and  most  solid 
basis  of  a  man's  conduct. 
[216] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


You  shall  see  to  what  little  it  was  reduced. 
But,  sir,  I  truly  think  such  a  return  suffices  a 
man's  life.  It  has  taken  me  a  great  deal  of 
time  to  find  the  source  of  the  true  Greatness 
that  a  man  may  possess  in  the  almost  barbarous 
profession  of  Arms. 

Here  Captain  Renaud  was  interrupted  by 
an  old  sergeant  of  Grenadiers,  who  posted  him- 
self at  the  door  of  the  cafe,  carrying  his 
weapon,  as  do  the  noncommissioned  officers, 
and  pulling  out  a  letter  written  on  grey  glazed 
paper  from  under  the  strap  of  his  rifle.  The 
Captain  rose  quietly  and  opened  the  order  he 
received. 

"Tell  Bejaud  to  copy  this  on  the  order 
book,"  he  said  to  the  sergeant. 

"The  sergeant-major  has  not  returned  from 
the  Arsenal,"  said  the  man,  in  a  voice  soft  as  a 
girl's,  lowering  his  eyes,  and  without  even 
deigning  to  say  how  his  comrade  had  been 
killed. 

"Let  the  mess-sergeant  take  his  place,"  said 
the  Captain  without  asking  a  question.  And 
he  signed  his  order  on  the  sergeant's  book,  us- 
ing his  back  for  a  desk. 

He  coughed  slightly,  and  resumed  quietly. 
[217] 


CHAPTER  V 
AN  UNKNOWN  DIALOGUE 

My  poor  father's  letter,  and  his  death,  of 
which  I  was  informed  shortly  after,  produced 
a  strong  impression  on  me,  all  intoxitrated 
though  I  was  and  dizzy  with  the  noise  of  my 
spurs, — an  impressi^ar  strong  enough  to  give 
a  jolt  to  my  blind  ardour.  I  began  to  examine 
more  closely  and  more  calmly  what  was  super- 
natural in  the  splendours  that  intoxicated  me. 
For  the  first  time  I  asked  myself  of  what  con- 
sisted this  ascendency  we  allowed  to  be  exer- 
cised over  us,  by  men  of  action  clad  with  abso- 
lute power.  I  even  dared  to  make  some  inward 
effort  to  draw  a  limit  to  this  voluntary  yield- 
ing of  so  many  men  to  one  single  man.  This 
first  shake-up  made  me  half  open  an  eyelid, 
and  I  was  audacious  enough  to  look  the  daz- 
zling eagle  square  in  the  face.  The  eagle  that 
had  picked  me  up  when  I  was  a  mere  child, 
and  whose  talons  gripped  my  loins. 
[218] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


I  was  not  slow  to  find  occasions  for  examin- 
ing him  more  closely,  and  to  spy  out  the  spirit 
of  the  great  man  in  the  obscure  actions  of  his 
private  life. 

They  had  dared  to  create  pages,  as  I  have 
told  you.  But  we  wore  officers'  uniforms,  while 
awaiting  the  green  livery  with  red  breeches 
we  would  have  to  put  on  at  the  coronation. 
We  acted  as  equerries,  secretaries  or  aides-de- 
camp until  then,  according  to  the  will  of  the 
master  who  accepted  whatever  he  laid  his 
hands  on.  Already  he  took  pleasure  in  filling 
his  anterooms,  and  as  the  craving  to  dominate 
pursued  him  everywhere,  he  could  not  keep 
from  exercising  it  in  the  smallest  matters,  and 
he  tormented  those  about  him  with  the  untir- 
ing infliction  of  his  will. 

He  amused  himself  with  my  timidity.  He 
played  with  my  terror  and  my  respectfulness. 
Sometimes  he  would  call  me  brusquely.  Then, 
when  he  saw  me  enter,  pale  and  stammering, 
he  would  amuse  himself  by  making  me  talk  for 
a  long  while  to  see  my  astonishment  and  con- 
fuse my  ideas. 

Sometimes,  while  I  was  taking  down  his 
dictation,  he  would  suddenly  pull  my  ear — a 
way  he  had — and  ask  some  irrelevant  question 
[219] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

on  some  common  science  like  geometry  or  al- 
gebra, proposing  the  simplest  child's  problem. 
At  the  time  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  lightning 
were  striking  me.  I  knew  a  thousand  times 
over  whatever  he  quizzed  me  on.  I  knew  more 
about  it  than  he  believed,  sometimes  even  more 
than  himself,  but  his  eye  would  paralyse  me. 

When  he  was  outside  the  room  I  could 
breathe  again.  The  blood  began  to  circulate  in 
my  veins  and  memory  would  return,  and  with 
it  inexpressible  shame.  Rage  would  take  me 
and  I  would  write  down  what  I  should  have 
answered.  Then  I  would  roll  around  on  the 
floor  and  cry  out  and  want  to  kill  myself.  . 

— "What!"  I  would  ask  myself,  "is  there 
really  a  head  wise  enough  to  be  sure  of  every- 
thing and  hesitate  before  no  one?  Men  who 
daze  themselves  by  action  on  all  things,  and 
whose  assurance  crushes  others  by  making  them 
believe  that  the  key  to  all  knowledge  and  all 
power,  the  key  for  which  one  does  not  cease 
to  look,  is  in  their  pockets  and  they  have  but 
to  open  them  in  order  to  bring  forth  the  light 
and  infallible  authority."  Nevertheless,  I  felt 
that  this  was  a  false  and  usurped  force.  I 
revolted  and  shouted: 

— "He  hes!  His  attitude,  his  voice,  his  ges- 
[220] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


ture,  are  only  an  actor's  pantomime,  a  miser- 
able parade  of  sovereignty.  He  must  know  its 
vanity !  He  cannot  possibly  believe  in  himself 
so  sincerely !  He  forbids  all  of  us  to  lift  the 
veil  but  he  must  see  himself  naked  through 
it.  And  what  does  he  see?  A  poor  ignoramus 
like  ourselves,  and  underneath  it  all  a  feeble 
creature!" 

Yet  I  did  not  know  how  to  see  to  the  bot- 
tom of  this  disguised  soul.  Power  and  glory 
defended  him  on  all  points.  I  turned  about  it 
without  succeeding  in  surprising  a  single 
thing;  and  the  ever  armed  porcupine  rolled  in 
front  of  me,  offering  on  all  sides  none  but 
prickly  points.  One  day,  however,  hazard,  mas- 
ter of  us  all,  pushed  them  apart  for  an  instant, 
and  between  these  spikes  and  darts,  let  out  an 
instant  of  light.  (Perhaps  it  was  the  only  time 
in  all  his  life.)  One  day  he  did  encounter  a 
stronger  force  than  himself  and  he  drew  back 
for  an  instant  before  an  ascendancy  greater 
than  his  own.  I  witnessed  it  and  felt  myself 
avenged. 

This  is  how  it  came  about. 

We  were  at  Fontainebleau.  The  Pope  had 
just  arrived.  The  Emperor  had  awaited  him 
impatiently  for  his  coronation,  and  had  re- 
[221] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

ceived  him  in  a  carriage,  which  they  entered 
from  either  side  at  the  same  instant;  appar- 
ently etiquette  had  been  neglected ;  but  indeed 
it  had  been  deeply  calculated  so  as  not  to  cede 
or  grasp  a  thing;  an  Italian  ruse. 

He  came  back  to  the  castle,  where  every- 
thing was  in  an  uproar.  I  had  left  several  offi- 
cers in  the  room  ahead  of  the  Emperor's  room, 
and  had  remained  alone  in  his.  I  was  gazing 
at  a  long  table  which  had  a  Roman  mosaic 
top  instead  of  a  marble  one.  An  enormous 
stack  of  letters  and  petitions  overloaded  it. 

I  had  often  seen  Bonaparte  enter  here  and 
subject  these  letters  to  a  strange  test.  He  did 
not  take  them  up  in  their  order,  nor  haphazard. 
But  when  their  numbers  irritated  him,  he  would 
pass  his  hat  over  the  table  from  left  to  right 
and  from  right  to  left,  like  a  mower,  and  so 
scatter  them  until  five  or  six  were  left  which 
he  would  then  open. 

This  scornful  sort  of  game  had  moved  me 
singularly.  All  these  letters  of  mourning  and 
distress  rejected  and  flung  on  the  floor  as  by 
an  angry  wind ;  the  useless  pleas  of  widows  and 
orphans  having  no  chance  of  help  any  more 
than  the  flying  leaves  swept  by  the  consular 
hat;  all  these  sobbing  pages,  wet  with  the  tears 
/  [222] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


of  mothers,  draggling  haphazardly  under  his 
boots;  on  which  he  walked  as  he  walked  on 
his  dead  of  the  battlefields,  represented  the 
present  Fate  of  France,  like  a  sinister  lottery. 
No  matter  how  great  the  rude,  indifferent  hand 
that  drew  the  lots,  I  thought  it  was  not  just 
to  yield  up  to  the  whim  of  his  fist  so  many 
obscure  fortunes  which  perhaps  might  have 
been  as  great  as  his  own  some  day,  if  some  sup- 
port were  given  them. 

I  felt  my  heart  rise  in  revolt  against  Bona- 
parte. But  shamefully;  like  the  slave's  heart 
that  it  was.  I  considered  these  abandoned  let- 
ters. Cries  of  unheeded  grief  rose  from  their 
profaned  folds.  And  taking  them  up  to  read 
them,  throwing  them  away  again,  I  myself 
judged  between  these  unfortunates  and  the 
Master  to  whom  they  had  given  themselves, 
and  who  Vv^ould  be  planting  himself  this  very 
day  more  solidly  than  ever  upon  their  heads. 

In  my  hand  was  one  of  these  scorned  peti- 
tions. Then  the  drums  announced  the  immedi- 
ate arrival  of  the  Emperor.  You  know  that, 
even  as  the  flash  of  a  cannon  is  seen  almost  be- 
fore hearing  the  detonation,  so  Napoleon  was 
always  seen  simultaneously  with  the  clamour 
announcing  his  approach — so  prompt  were  his 
[223] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

paces  and  so  hurried  did  he  seem  to  live  and 
fling  his  actions  one  upon  another.  When  he 
entered  the  palace  court  on  horseback,  his  es- 
corts had  difficulty  in  following  him,  and  the 
sentries  had  no  time  to  snatch  up  their  arms, 
before  he  already  had  dismounted  and  bounded 
up  the  stairway. 

This  time  he  had  left  the  Pope's  carriage 
and  returned  alone,  ahead  and  at  a  gallop.  I 
heard  his  heels  clatter  the  same  instant  I  heard 
the  drums.  I  barely  had  time  to  jump  in  the 
alcove,  where  stood  a  big  bed  of  state  that  no 
one  used,  and  which  was  fortified  by  a  princely 
balustrade,  and  fortunately  more  than  half 
closed  by  curtains  embroidered  with  bees. 

The  Emperor  was  much  excited.  He  walked 
into  the  room  alone  like  one  who  awaits  some- 
thing impatiently.  In  a  twinkling  he  had 
paced  its  length  three  times.  Then  he  ap- 
proached the  window  and  started  to  thrum  a 
march  on  it  with  his  nails.  A  carriage  rolled 
into  the  courtyard.  He  stopped  drumming, 
stamped  his  foot  two  or  three  times  as  if  im- 
patient at  the  sight  of  something  that  was  be- 
ing done  slowly,  and  then  he  rushed  to  the  door 
to  open  it  for  the  Pope. 

Pius  VII  entered  alone.  Bonaparte  hur- 
[224] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


riedly  shut  the  door  after  him,  with  the  promp- 
titude of  a  jailer.  I  felt  greatly  terrified  to 
find  myself  a  third  in  such  company.  But  I 
remained  voiceless,  motionless,  looking  and 
listening  with  all  the  power  of  my  senses. 

The  Pope  was  tall  of  stature.  His  face  was 
long,  yellow,  ailing,  but  full  of  a  holy  nobility 
and  limitless  goodness.  His  black  eyes  were 
large  and  fine,  his  mouth  half  open  with  a 
benevolent  smile  to  which  his  firm  chin  gave  an 
expression  of  keen  and  quick  spirituality.  This 
smile  smacked  not  of  political  harshness,  but 
wholly  of  Christian  kindness.  A  white  cap  cov- 
ered his  long  black  hair  which  was  shot  with 
silver.  On  his  bent  shoulders  he  wore  care- 
lessly a  long,  red  velvet  cape  and  his  robe  swept 
his  feet. 

He  entered  slowly  with  the  quiet,  careful 
step  of  an  elderly  woman.  He  sat  down,  eyes 
lowered,  on  one  of  the  great  Roman  armchairs, 
gilded  and  loaded  with  eagles,  and  awaited 
what  the  other  Italian  had  to  say  to  him. 

Ah!  my  dear  sir!  Such  a  scene!  Such  a 
scene!    I  can  see  it  still. 

It  was  not  the  genius  of  the  man  it  showed 
me,  but  his  character.  And  if  his  great  spirit 
did  not  unfold,  his  heart  at  least  flashed  forth. 
[225] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

Bonaparte,  then,  was  not  as  yet  what  you 
have  since  seen  him  to  be.  He  did  not  have 
that  financier's  belly,  that  puffed  sickly  face, 
those  gouty  legs  and  all  that  infirm  fat  which 
art  has  unfortunately  seized  upon  to  make  a 
"type"  of  him  according  to  modern  expression, 
and  which  has  handed  him  down  to  the  masses, 
that  almost  popular  and  grotesque  form,  which 
fits  him  to  become  a  child's  toy,  and  will  leave 
him  perhaps  one  day  or  another,  fabulous  and 
deformed  like  Polichinelle,  He  was  not  that 
way  at  all  at  the  time,  but  supple,  nervous, 
quick,  keen  and  active,  convulsive  in  his  ges- 
tures, sometimes  graceful,  always  careful  of 
his  manners.  His  chest  was  flat  and  sunken 
between  the  shoulders,  and  his  face  was  still 
as  I  had  seen  it  in  Malta,  melancholy  and 
sharp-featured. 

He  never  stopped  pacing  up  and  down  the 
room  after  the  Pope  had  entered.  He  began  to 
roam  around  the  armchair,  like  a  prudent 
hunter,  and  stopped  suddenly  in  front  of  it  in 
the  stiff,  motionless  attitude  of  a  corporal. 
He  took  up  the  sequel  to  some  conversation 
broached  in  the  carriage,  but  interrupted  by 
the  arrival,  and  which  he  wanted  to  rush 
through. 

[226] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


— "I  repeat.  Holy  Father,  I  am  not  at  all 
strong-minded  and  I  am  not  fond  of  arguers 
and  idealists.  I  assure  you  that,  in  spite  of  my 
old  Republicans,  I  shall  attend  mass." 

He  snapped  these  last  words  at  the  Pope 
brusquely,  like  a  censer  waved  at  his  face,  and 
stopped  to  watch  the  effect,  thinking  that  the 
more  or  less  impious  circumstances  preceding 
this  interview  should  give  this  sudden  and  keen 
avowal  an  extraordinary  value.  The  Pope 
lowered  his  eyes  and  put  his  two  hands  on  the 
eagle  heads  that  formed  the  arms  of  his  chair. 
By  this  attitude,  like  a  Roman  statue,  he 
seemed  to  say  clearly:  I  resign  myself  in  ad- 
vance to  hearing  all  the  profanities  he  may 
be  pleased  to  make  me  hear. 

Bonaparte  made  the  round  of  the  room 
about  the  armchair,  which  stood  in  the  centre. 
By  the  look  he  cast  sideways  upon  the  old 
pontiff,  I  could  see  that  he  was  pleased  neither 
with  himself  nor  with  his  adversary,  and  that 
he  reproached  himself  for  having  reopened  this 
conversation  so  quickly.  So  he  began  to  talk 
more  circumspectly,  always  circling  the  room, 
casting  sidelong  glances  into  the  long  mirrors 
of  the  apartment,  where  the  grave  countenance 
of  the  Holy  Father  was  reflected,  and  peer- 
[227] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

ing  sharply  at  the  Holy  Father's  profile  when- 
ever he  passed  close,  but  never  looking  him 
full  in  the  face,  for  fear  of  seeming  too  anxious 
about  the  impression  his  words  were  making. 

— "There  is  something,"  he  said,  "which  con- 
tinues to  weigh  on  my  heart.  Holy  Father. 
It  is  that  you  consent  to  the  coronation  in 
the  same  manner  as  the  other  time  to  the  Con- 
cordat— as  if  you  were  forced  to  it.  You  have 
the  air  of  a  martyr  before  me.  You  sit  there 
as  if  resigned,  as  if  offering  your  woes  to 
Heaven.  But  really,  that  is  not  your  position. 
You  are  no  prisoner,  by  God!  You  are  free 
as  the  air!" 

Pius  VII  smiled  sadly  and  looked  him  in 
the  face.  He  felt  the  prodigious  in  the  de- 
mands of  this  despotic  character.  To  it,  as 
to  all  spirits  of  the  same  nature,  it  was  not 
sufficient  to  make  itself  obeyed,  unless  in  obey- 
ing people  showed  an  ardent  desire  to  do  what 
he  commanded. 

— "Yes,"  resumed  Bonaparte  more  force- 
fully, "you  are  perfectly  free.  You  may  re- 
turn to  Rome;  the  way  is  open,  no  one  holds 
you  back." 

The  Pope  sighed  and  raised  his  right  hand 
and  lifted  his  eyes  to  Heaven  without  answer- 
[228] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


ing.  Then  he  lowered  his  wrinkled  brow  very 
slowly  and  fell  to  contemplating  the  gold  cross 
hung  about  his  neck. 

Bonaparte  continued  talking,  turning  about 
more  slowly.  His  voice  became  mild  and  his 
smile  very  gracious. 

— "Holy  Father,  if  the  gravity  of  your  char- 
acter did  not  prevent  me,  I  should  say  that 
you  are  really  a  little  ungrateful.  You  do  not 
seem  to  remember  enough  the  good  services 
France  has  rendered  you.  The  Conclave  of 
Venice  which  elected  you  Pope  was  inspired 
by  my  Italian  campaign  and  by  a  word  I  said 
about  you — it  looks  a  little  that  way  to  me! 
Austria  was  not  treating  you  very  well  at  the 
time,  which  distressed  me  very  much.  Your 
Holiness  was  compelled,  I  believe,  to  return 
to  Rome  by  sea,  because  it  was  impossible  to 
cross  Austrian  territory." 

He  broke  off  to  await  the  response  of  Pius 
VII.  But  his  silent  host  only  bowed  his  head 
almost  imperceptibly  and  remained  as  if 
plunged  in  a  dejection  which  prevented  him 
from  listening. 

Then  Bonaparte  pushed  with  his  foot  a  chair 
close  to  the  Pope's  armchair.  I  trembled,  for 
[229] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

in  picking  this  seat,  his  shoulder  had  grazed  the 
curtain  of  the  alcove  where  I  was  hidden. 

— "It  was  really  as  a  Catholic,"  he  continued, 
"that  it  distressed  me.  I  never  have  had  the 
time  to  study  much  theology,  but  I  still  attach 
a  great  faith  to  the  power  of  the  Church.  It 
has  a  marvellous  vitality.  Holy  Father.  Vol- 
taire has  upset  things  a  little,  but  I  don't  like 
him,  and  I  am  going  to  turn  loose  against  him 
an  old,  unfrocked,  oratorian  monk.  You  will 
be  satisfied,  all  right.  Come,  you  and  I  might 
do  a  great  many  things  in  the  future,  if  you 
cared  to." 

He  assumed  an  air  of  innocence  and  of  most 
caressing  youthfulness. 

— "I  don't  know,  but  for  all  my  trying,  I 
can't  see  really  why  you  should  have  any  re- 
pugnance against  taking  your  seat  at  Paris 
for  always!  Why,  I  will  leave  the  Tuileries 
to  you,  if  you  want.  You  already  will  find 
your  Monte-Cavallo  room  there  awaiting  you. 
I  hardly  ever  stay  there.  Don't  you  see  clearly. 
Padre,  that  the  real  capital  of  the  world  is 
here?  I  will  do  anything  you  want.  To  begin 
with,  I  am  a  better  child  than  people  believe. 
Provided  war  and  tiresome  politics  be  left  to 
me,  you  may  arrange  the  Church  any  way  you 
[230] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


please.  I  will  be  your  soldier  altogether.  Look, 
it  would  be  truly  splendid.  We  would  have 
our  Councils  hke  Const  ant  ine  and  Charle- 
magne. I  will  open  them,  and  close  them.  Next 
I  will  put  into  your  hands  the  real  keys  of  the 
World,  and  as  our  Lord  has  said :  *I  am  come 
with  the  sword,  so  shall  I  keep  the  sword.'  I 
shall  only  bring  it  to  you  for  your  blessing  after 
each  success  of  our  arms." 

He  bent  forward  slightly  when  he  uttered 
these  words. 

The  Pope,  who  until  then  had  remained  mo- 
tionless, like  an  Egyptian  statue,  slowly  raised 
his  bowed  head  and  smiled  sorrowfully.  He 
lifted  his  eyes  and  said,  with  a  quiet  sigh,  as 
if  confiding  his  thought  to  his  invisible  guard- 
ian angel: 

— ''Commedianter 

Bonaparte  bounded  from  his  chair  like  a 
wounded  leopard.  A  veritable  fury  possessed 
him,  one  of  his  yellow  rages.  First  he  paced 
without  speaking,  gnawing  his  lips  till  they 
bled.  He  no  longer  circled  around  his  prey 
with  sharp  glances  and  stealthy  tread.  He 
moved  straight  and  strong,  lengthwise,  width- 
wise  through  the  room.  He  stamped  his  feet 
roughly  and  clattered  his  spurred  heels.  The 
[231] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

room  quivered.  The  curtains  shuddered,  the 
way  trees  do  when  thunder  approaches.  Some- 
thing big  and  terrible  was  going  to  happen,  I 
thought.  My  hair  hurt  me,  and  in  spite  of  my- 
self I  passed  my  hand  through  it.  I  looked*? 
at  the  Pope.  He  did  not  budge.  But  both  his 
hands  tightly  gripped  the  eagles'  heads  on  the 
arms  of  his  chair. 

The  storm  burst  all  of  a  sudden. 

— "Comedian?  I?  Ah!  I  shall  give  you 
comedies  that  will  make  all  of  you  weep  like 
women  and  children.  Comedian!  !  Ah!  you 
are  wrong  if  you  think  you  can  try  your  in- 
solent composure  on  me!  My  playhouse  is 
the  world!  The  part  I  play  is  the  part  of 
master  and  creator!  For  actors  I  have  the 
whole  lot  of  you.  Pope,  Kings,  Nations !  And 
the  string  on  which  you  dance  is  Fear !  Com- 
edian! Ah!  You  have  to  be  bigger  than  you 
are  to  dare  applaud  or  hiss  me,  Signor  Chiara- 
monti!  Do  you  realise  you  would  be  nothing 
but  a  poor  curate  if  I  wanted  it  ?  You  and  your 
tiara,  France  would  sneer  at  you  if  I  did  not 
keep  my  face  straight  when  bowing  to  you ! 

"Only  four  years  ago,  no  one  dared  speak 
aloud  of  Christ.    And  who  would  have  dared 
discuss  the  Pope,  if  you  please?    Comedian! 
[232] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


Ah !  gentlemen,  you  quickly  feel  at  home  with 
us!  You  are  ill-tempered  because  I  have  not 
been  silly  enough  to  sign  the  disapprobation  of 
Gallican  liberties,  like  Louis  XIV!  But  you 
don't  put  it  over  on  me  that  way !  It  is  I  that 
hold  you  in  my  hands.  It  is  I  that  drag  you 
from  the  South  to  the  North  like  marionettes. 
It  is  I  that  make  believe  you  count  for 
something,  because  you  represent  an  old  idea 
I  want  to  revive.  And  you  haven't  the  sense 
to  see  it  and  to  act  as  if  you  didn't  notice  it. 
Not  at  all!  You  must  be  told  everything! 
You  must  have  your  nose  rubbed  into  things 
to  understand  them.  And  you  really  think 
people  have  use  for  you,  and  you  stick  up  your 
head  and  drape  yourself  in  your  woman's  petti- 
coats! But  understand  well  that  petticoats 
do  not  awe  me  in  the  least,  and  that  if  you 
continue,  you!  I  will  treat  them  the  way 
Charles  XII  did  those  of  the  Grand  Vizier: 
I  will  rip  them  with  one  kick  of  my  spurs." 

He  kept  still.  I  dared  not  breathe.  I  craned 
my  neck,  when  I  no  longer  heard  his  roaring 
voice,  to  see  if  the  poor  old  man  were  not 
dead  with  fright.  But  I  saw  the  same  seren- 
ity in  his  attitude,  the  same  serenity  on  his 
face!  A  second  time  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  the 
[233] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

ceiling  and  after  uttering  another  deep  sigh 
he  smiled  bitterly  and  said : 

— "Tragedianter 

At  that  moment  Bonaparte  was  down  the 
room,  leaning  on  the  marble  chimney  that  was 
as  tall  as  himself.  He  darted  off  like  an  ar- 
row, rushing  upon  the  old  man.  I  believed 
he  was  going  to  kill  him.  But  he  stopped 
short.  From  the  table  he  snatched  up  a  Sevres 
vase,  painted  with  the  castle  of  Saint- Angelo 
and  the  Capitol.  He  flung  it  down  against 
the  andirons,  and  crushed  the  pieces  under  his 
feet.  Then  suddenly  he  sat  down  and  remained 
profoundly  silent,  formidably  motionless. 

I  was  relieved.  I  felt  that  sober  thought 
had  returned  to  him  and  that  his  brain  had  re- 
gained mastery  over  his  seething  blood.  He 
became  sad,  his  voice  was  dull  and  gloomy 
and  from  his  first  word  I  gathered  that  he  was 
himself,  and  that  this  Proteus  quelled  by  two 
words,  was  showing  his  true  self. 

—"Miserable  hfel"  he  said  first.  Then  he 
mused,  and  tore  the  brim  of  his  hat,  without 
speaking  for  another  minute.  Emerged  from 
his  musings  he  went  on,  as  if  talking  to  him- 
self: 

— "It's  true!  Tragedian  or  Comedian.  It 
[234] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


is  all  a  part,  all  a  masquerade  for  me,  long  since 
and  for  all  time.  Such  weariness!  Such  lit- 
tleness. To  pose!  Always  to  pose!  Full 
face  for  this  party,  in  profile  for  that  individ- 
ual, according  to  their  notion.  To  appear  the 
way  they  like  me  to  be,  and  to  guess  correctly 
their  imbecile's  dreams !  To  keep  them  all  be- 
tween hope  and  fear.  To  dazzle  them  with 
data  and  bulletins,  with  prestige  of  distances 
and  prestige  of  names.  To  be  master  of  them 
all  and  not  to  know  what  to  do  with  it.  Upon 
my  word,  that's  all!  And  after  all  that,  to 
be  bored  the  way  I  am,  it  is  too  much!" 

He  huddled  into  the  armchair  and  crossed 
his  legs. — "Truly,  I  am  enormously  bored!  The 
moment  I  sit  down,  I  die  of  ennui.  I  could 
not  hunt  around  Fontainebleau  for  three  days 
without  perishing  with  dulness.  I  must  keep 
going  and  make  people  keep  going.  If  I  knew 
where,  I'd  like  to  be  hanged,  by  gad.  I  am 
speaking  plainly  to  you.  I  have  plans  enough 
for  the  life  of  forty  Emperors;  I  make  one 
every  morning  and  one  every  night.  I  have  a 
tireless  imagination.  But  I  would  not  have 
time  to  fulfill  two,  before  I  should  be  used  up 
body  and  soul.  For  our  poor  lamp  does  not 
burn  long.  And  frankly,  if  all  my  plans  should 
[235] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

be  put  through,  I  would  not  swear  the  world 
would  be  much  happier  for  it.  But  it  would 
be  more  beautiful,  and  a  majestic  unity  would 
be  reigning  over  it.  I  am  not  a  philosopher, 
and  I  know  only  our  Secretary  of  Florence 
who  has  had  common  sense.  I  see  nothing  in 
certain  theories.  Life  is  too  short  to  stop  and 
theorise.  As  soon  as  I  have  thought,  I  act! 
After  I  am  gone,  people  will  find  plenty  of 
explanations  for  my  actions  to  raise  me  higher 
if  I  succeed,  and  belittle  me  if  I  fail.  The 
paradoxes  about  it  are  all  ready.  They  abound 
in  France.  I  make  them  keep  still  while  I 
am  alive,  but  afterwards  we  shall  see.  No  mat- 
ter! My  business  is  to  succeed,  and  I  under- 
stand that.  I  shall  write  my  Iliad  with  deeds, 
daj^  by  day." 

At  this  point  he  rose  with  a  promptness  that 
was  almost  gay,  something  alert  and  alive. 
He  was  natural  and  himself  at  that  moment. 
He  did  not  think  at  all  of  showing  off  the  way 
he  did  afterwards  in  his  dialogues  of  Saint 
Helena.  He  never  thought  of  idealising  him- 
self and  did  not  set  forth  his  person  in  a  man- 
ner to  realise  the  finest  philosophical  concep- 
tions. He  was  his  true  self,  his  inner  self 
exteriorised. 

[236] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


He  came  back  close  to  the  Holy  Father, 
who  had  not  stirred,  and  walked  in  front  of 
him.  Then  blazing  up,  half  laughing  in  irony, 
he  uttered  the  following,  or  very  nearly.  It 
is  all  intermixed  with  trivial  and  imposing 
words  as  was  his  wont,  and  delivered  with  the 
inconceivable  volubility,  the  rapid  expression 
of  this  quick  and  facile  genius,  which  divined 
everything  at  once  without  effort. 

— "Birth  is  everything!  Those  that  come 
into  the  world  poor  and  naked  are  always  des- 
perate. That  turns  into  action  or  into  suicide, 
according  to  the  people's  characters.  When 
they  have  courage,  like  me,  to  put  their  hands 
on  everything,  they  raise  the  devil.  What  do 
you  expect?  We  have  to  live.  We  must  find 
our  place  and  make  our  little  hole.  I  have 
shaped  mine  like  a  cannon  ball.  So  much  the 
worse  for  those  that  were  in  front  of  me.  Some 
are  content  with  little,  others  never  have 
enough.  What  can  you  do  about  it?  Every- 
body eats  according  to  his  appetite.  And  I 
was  very  hungry !  Look  here.  Holy  Father, 
at  Toulon  I  did  not  have  the  ^rice  of  a  pair 
of  epaulettes.  Instead,  I  had  on  my  shoulders 
a  mother  and  God  knows  how  many  brothers. 
All  that  is  fixed  at  present,  all  right  enough 
[237] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

I  hope.  Josephine  had  married  me,  as  if  out 
of  pity,  and  we  are  going  to  crown  her  in  the 
face  of  Raguideau,  her  notary,  who  said  I  had 
only  my  sword  and  my  cloak.  My  word,  he 
was  not  wrong!  Imperial  cloak,  crown,  what 
does  it  all  amount  to?  Is  it  mine?  Masquerade 
costimie!  Actor's  mummery  f  I  shall  put  it 
on  for  an  hour  and  have  enough  of  it.  Then 
I  will  put  on  my  little  officer's  coat  again  and 
jump  on  my  horse.  Always  to  horse;  all  my 
life  on  horseback!  I  could  not  sit  down  a 
whole  day  without  running  the  risk  of  being 
thrown  out  of  my  armchair.  Am  I  really  to 
be  envied?   What? 

"I'll  tell  you.  Holy  Father!  There  are  only 
two  kinds  of  people  in  the  world:  those  who 
possess  and  those  who  earn. 

"The  former  lie  low.  The  latter  keep  stir- 
ring. Because  I  have  learned  that  young,  and 
at  the  right  moment,  I  shall  go  far.  That's  all ! 
There  are  only  two  men  that  have  arrived 
beginning  after  forty:  Cromwell  and  Jean- 
Jacques  !  If  you  had  given  the  one  a  farm  and 
the  other  twelve  hundred  francs  and  his  serv- 
ant, they  would  have  neither  preached,  nor 
commanded  nor  written.  There  are  artisans 
in  building,  in  colours,  in  forms  and  in  words. 
[238] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


I  am  an  artisan  in  battles.  It's  my  trade.  At 
thirty-five  I  have  already  manufactured  eight- 
een of  them;  their  names  are  victories.  My 
work  must  be  paid.  To  pay  for  it  with  a 
throne  is  not  too  high  a  price.  Besides,  I  keep 
on  working  always.  You  will  see  a  good  many 
more.  You  will  see  all  dynasties  date  from 
mine,  newcomer  though  I  am,  and  elected. 
Elected  like  you.  Holy  Father,  and  drawn 
from  among  the  masses.  On  that  point  we  can 
shake  hands." 

And,  approaching,  he  held  his  white,  brusque 
hand  out  to  the  withered  and  timid  hand  of  the 
good  Pope.  Softened,  perhaps  by  the  good- 
natured  tone  of  this  last  move  of  the  Emper- 
or's, perhaps  by  a  secret  reversion  of  thought 
to  his  own  fate  and  the  gloomy  prospect  of 
Christian  society,  Pius  VII  gave  him  the  tips 
of  his  fingers,  that  still  trembled,  with  the  air 
of  a  grandmother  who  makes  up  with  a  child 
she  has  been  grieved  to  have  scolded  too 
harshly.  He  sadly  shook  his  head  the  while, 
and  I  saw  a  teardrop  from  his  beautiful  eyes, 
that  rolled  quickly  down  his  livid,  withered 
cheek.  It  seemed  to  me  like  the  last  farewell 
of  dying  Christianity,  abandoning  the  earth  to 
selfishness  and  hazard. 

[239] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

Bonaparte  gave  a  furtive  look  at  the  tear 
he  had  wrung  from  this  poor  soul,  and  I  even 
surprised,  on  one  side  of  his  mouth,  a  quick 
twitch  which  resembled  a  smile  of  triumph.  At 
the  moment  this  all-powerful  nature  appeared 
to  me  less  lofty  and  less  fine  than  that  of  his 
saintly  opponent.  It  made  me  blush,  behind 
my  curtains,  for  all  my  past  enthusiasm.  I 
felt  an  entirely  new  sadness  in  discovering  how 
the  highest  political  greatness  could  become 
(small  through  the  heartless  tricks  of  its  vanity, 
its  miserable  pitfalls  and  its  cunning  baseness. 

I  saw  that  he  had  wanted  nothing  of  his 
prisoner,  and  that  it  was  a  silent  joy  he  had 
gained  for  himself  by  not  failing  in  this  inter- 
view. Having  allowed  himself  to  be  surprised 
into  anger,  he  had  made  his  captive  flinch  under 
the  emotion  born  of  fatigue,  fear  and  aU  the 
weaknesses  that  bring  an  inexplicable  emotion 
to  the  eyelid  of  an  elderly  man. 

Bonaparte  had  wished  to  have  the  last  word 
and,  without  adding  another,  he  left  the  room 
as  brusquely  as  he  had  entered.  I  did  not  see 
whether  he  saluted  the  Pope.  I  do  not  think 
he  did. 


[240] 


CHAPTER  VI 
A  MAN  OF  THE  SEA 

As  soon  as  the  Emperor  had  left  the  apart- 
ment, two  ecclesiastics  came  to  the  Pope  and 
led  him  away,  supporting  him  under  either 
arm,  dejected,  tearful  and  trembling. 

I  stayed  until  night  in  the  alcove,  where  I 
had  overheard  this  discourse.  My  thoughts 
were  confused  and  it  was  not  the  terror  of  this 
scene  which  predominated.  I  was  overcome 
by  what  I  had  seen.  And  knowing  now  to 
what  evil  passes  personal  ambition  may  cause 
genius  to  stoop,  I  felt  hatred  against  this  pas- 
sion which  had  blighted,  under  my  very  eyes, 
the  most  brilliant  of  tyrants,  he  who  would 
probably  give  his  name  to  the  century  for  hav- 
ing retarded  its  progress  ten  years. 

I  felt  the  folly  of  devoting  oneself  to  a  single 

man,  since  despotic  authority  cannot  fail  to 

corrupt  the  feeble  heart.    But  I  knew  no  idea 

to  which  to  devote  myself  henceforth.    I  have 

[241] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

told  you  that  I  was  only  eighteen  at  the  time, 
and  I  possessed  within  me  but  the  vaguest  in- 
stinct of  good,  truth,  and  beauty,  but  obstinate 
enough,  though,  to  stick  forever  to  their  re- 
search. That  is  the  only  thing  I  respect  in  my- 
self. 

I  judged  it  was  my  duty  to  keep  still  about 
what  I  had  witnessed.  But  I  had  reason  to 
believe  that  my  temporary  disappearance  from 
the  Emperor's  suite  had  been  discovered,  for 
this  is  what  happened  to  me.  In  the  Master's 
manner  towards  me  I  noticed  no  change  what- 
ever. Only  I  spent  less  time  near  him,  and 
the  close  study  of  his  character  I  had  wanted 
to  make  was  suddenly  cut  short.  One  morning 
I  received  orders  to  start  instantly  for  the  camp 
at  Boulogne  and,  on  my  arrival,  orders  to 
embark  upon  one  of  the  flat  bottomed  boats 
that  were  being  tried  out  at  sea. 

I  left  with  less  regret  than  I  would  have 
felt  if  this  trip  had  been  announced  to  me  prior 
to  the  Fontainebleau  scene.  I  breathed  when 
leaving  that  old  castle  and  its  forest,  and  this 
involuntary  relief  made  me  feel  that  my  sat- 
ellitism  had  received  its  deathblow.  At  first 
this  new  discovery  saddened  me,  and  I 
trembled  for  the  dazzling  illusion  which  had 
[242] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


made  a  duty  of  my  blind  devotion.  The  great 
egoist  had  revealed  himself  before  me.  But 
in  proportion  to  the  distance  between  us  when 
I  went  away  from  him,  I  began  to  consider  him 
in  his  exploits  more  than  in  his  personality. 
And  by  this  view  of  him,  he  regained  over  me 
a  part  of  the  magical  power  by  which  he  fas- 
cinated the  world. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  rather  the  gigantic  con- 
ception of  war,  which  henceforth  appeared  to 
me,  than  that  of  the  man  who  represented  it 
in  such  redoubtable  fashion.  And  at  this  view 
I  felt  an  extreme  intoxication  for  the  glory  of 
battles  renew  itself  within  me.  It  silenced  my 
grief  for  the  master  who  ordered  the  battles, 
and  it  made  me  look  with  pride  upon  the  per- 
petual labours  of  the  men,  all  of  whom  ap- 
peared to  me  to  be  only  his  humble  workers. 

The  conception  was  actually  Homeric  and  fit 
to  take  in  schoolboys  with  its  dazzle  of  multiple 
activities.  But  something  false  was  mixed  up 
in  it,  nevertheless,  and  revealed  itself  to  me 
vaguely,  not  distinctly  as  yet.  I  felt  the  need 
of  a  clearer  view  than  mine  to  make  me  dis- 
cover the  foundation  of  it  all.  I  began  to 
learn  to  measure  my  Captain.  I  needed  now 
to  sound  war! 

[243] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

f  '  '! 

A  new  event  taught  me  my  second  lesson. 
For  I  received  three  harsh  lessons  in  my  life, 
and  I  am  telling  them  to  you  after  having  med- 
itated upon  them  every  day.  They  were  vio- 
lent shocks  for  me  and  the  last  of  them 
succeeded  in  overthrowing  the  idol  of  my  soul. 

The  conspicuous  demonstration  of  conquest 
of,  and  debarkation  in,  England,  the  memories 
of  William  the  Conqueror  freshly  evoked,  the 
discovery  of  Cgesar's  camp  at  Boulogne,  the 
sudden  concourse  of  nine  hundred  vessels  in 
that  seaport,  under  the  protection  of  a  battle- 
fleet  of  five  hundred  sails  constantly  adver- 
tised,— all  these  tricks,  as  well  as  those  of  the 
establishment  of  training  camps  at  Dunkirk 
and  Ostend,  Calais,  Montreuil  and  Saint-Omer 
under  the  command  of  four  field  marshals ;  the 
military  throne  whence  fell  the  first  stars  of 
the  Legion  of  Honour;  the  reviews,  the  fes- 
tivities, the  partial  attacks;  all  this  glitter, 
when  reduced  to  its  simplest  expression,  as  the 
language  of  geometry  puts  it,  had  only  three 
ends:  To  worry  England!  To  hush  up 
Europe!  To  concentrate  and  enthuse  the 
Army! 

Those  three  points  attained,  Bonaparte 
dropped  piece  by  piece  the  artificial  machine 
[244] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


that  he  had  set  playing  at  Boulogne.  When  I 
arrived  that  machine  was  whirling  in  the  empti- 
ness as  that  at  Marly.  The  generals  still  went 
through  the  motions  of  simulated  ardour,  but 
their  hearts  were  not  in  it.  Some  hapless  ships 
continued  to  be  launched,  scorned  by  the  Eng- 
lish who  would  sink  them  ever  and  anon.  I 
was  given  a  command  on  one  of  these  craft, 
the  very  day  after  my  arrival. 

That  day,  one  single  English  frigate  stood 
out  at  sea.  She  tacked  with  majestic  leisure. 
She  came,  she  went,  she  put  about,  she  keeled 
over  and  righted  herself,  preened,  glided, 
stopped  and  played  in  the  sun  like  a  swan  at 
its  ablutions.  The  miserable  flatboat,  of  new- 
fangled and  bad  design,  had  greatly  risked 
itself  before  with  four  other  similar  boats.  And 
we  were  very  proud  of  our  audacity,  launched 
as  we  had  been  since  morning,  when  we  sudden- 
ly discovered  the  peaceful  antics  of  the  frigate. 
Seen  from  shore,  they  no  doubt  would  have 
appeared  most  graceful  and  poetic  to  us;  or 
if  only  she  had  amused  herself  indulging  in  her 
frolics  between  England  and  ourselves!  But 
she  was,  on  the  contrary,  between  us  and 
France.  The  coast  of  Boulogne  was  more 
than  a  mile  off.  That  set  us  thinking. 
[245] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

We  did  the  best  we  could  with  our  bad  sails 
and  our  worse  oars,  and,  while  we  were  floun- 
dering about,  the  peaceable  frigate  continued 
taking  her  seabath  and  describing  a  thousand 
pleasing  scrolls  about  us.  She  played  riding 
school,  changing  her  paces  like  a  well-trained 
horse,  tracing  letters  S  and  Z  on  the  water  in 
the  most  amiable  fashion. 

We  noticed  that  she  permitted  us  to  pass  be- 
fore her  several  times  without  firing  one  gun- 
shot, and  she  even  drew  her  cannon  inside 
suddenly  and  shut  all  her  portholes.  At  first 
I  believed  this  to  be  a  most  peaceful  ma- 
noeuvre, and  I  could  make  nothing  of  this 
courtesy. 

But  a  rough  old  sailor  nudged  me  and  said : 
"Something  bad  is  afoot."  And  actually,  af- 
ter having  let  us  run  before  her  like  a  mouse 
before  a  cat,  that  amiable  and  pretty  frigate 
made  for  us  full  tilt,  without  deigning  to  fire. 
She  rammed  us  with  her  bows  like  a  horse  with 
its  chest — ^broke  us,  crushed  us,  sank  us,  and 
joyously  passed  on  over  us,  leaving  a  few 
boats  to  fish  out  the  prisoners.  I  was  among 
them;  the  tenth.  We  had  been  two  hundred 
when  we  started. 

The  pretty  frigate  was  called  the  Ndiade. 
[246] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


But,  not  to  lose  the  French  habit  of  playing 
on  words,  you  may  be  sure  that  we  did  not 
fail  to  call  her  the  "Noyade"  afterwards. 

The  bath  I  had  taken  had  been  so  rigorous, 
that  they  were  on  the  point  of  throwing  me 
back  into  the  sea  for  dead,  when  an  officer,  in 
looking  through  my  wallet,  found  my  father's 
letter  you  have  just  read,  and  on  it  CoUing- 
wood's  signature.  He  made  them  give  me 
closer  care.  They  discovered  signs  of  life  and 
when  I  came  to,  I  was  not  on  board  the  grace- 
ful N diode,  but  on  the  Victoire, 

I  asked  who  was  in  command  of  this  other 
ship.  They  answered  me  laconically:  "Lord 
CoUingwood." 

I  thought  he  must  be  the  son  of  the  one  my 
father  knew.  But  when  I  was  brought  before 
him  I  was  undeceived.    It  was  the  man  himself ! 

I  could  not  contain  my  surprise  when  he  told 
me,  with  an  altogether  paternal  kindness,  that 
he  had  not  expected  to  be  the  keeper  of  the  son, 
after  having  been  the  father's  custodian,  but 
that  he  hoped  to  fare  no  worse  because  of  it. 
That  he  had  been  present  during  my  father's 
last  moments  and  that,  having  learned  my 
name,  he  had  wanted  to  have  me  on  board  his 
ship.  He  spoke  to  me  in  the  best  of  French, 
[247] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

with  a  brooding  tenderness,  the  impression  of 
which  has  never  left  my  memory.  He  offered 
to  let  me  stay  aboard  his  ship  on  parole  if  I 
would  promise  never  to  make  any  attempt  at 
flight.  I  gave  my  word  of  honour  unhesitat- 
ingly, after  the  manner  of  young  men  of  eight- 
een, being  much  better  off  aboard  the  Victory 
than  on  some  tub. 

ximazed  to  see  nothing  to  justify  the  pre- 
judices against  the  English  that  had  been  in- 
culcated in  us,  I  became  acquainted  quite 
readily  with  the  ship's  officers.  My  ignorance 
about  the  sea  and  about  their  language  amused 
them  a  great  deal,  and  they  found  diversion 
in  teaching  me  both,  all  the  more  courteously 
because  their  Admiral  treated  me  like  his  son. 

Nevertheless,  a  great  sadness  overwhelmed 
me  whenever  I  saw  the  white  coasts  of  Nor- 
mandy from  afar,  and  I  would  turn  away  so 
as  not  to  weep.  I  resisted  the  desire  I  had 
to  cry,  because  I  was  young  and  brave.  But 
later,  the  moment  my  will  no  longer  watched 
over  my  heart,  the  moment  I  lay  down  and 
slept,  tears  would  come  to  my  eyes  in  spite  of 
myself  and  drench  my  cheeks  and  the  cover  of 
my  bed  to  the  point  of  waking  me. 

One  evening  particularly.  Another  French 
[248] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


brig  had  been  taken.  I  had  seen  it  perish  at 
a  distance  without  its  having  been  possible  to 
save  a  single  one  of  the  crew.  In  spite  of  the 
delicacy  and  repression  of  the  officers,  I  had 
to  hear  the  cries  and  hurrahs  of  the  sailors  who 
joyfully  saw  the  expedition  vanish  and  the  sea 
swallow  up,  bit  by  bit,  the  avalanche  which 
threatened  to  crush  their  country.  All  day  I 
had  withdrawn  and  hidden  in  the  quarters  Lord 
CoUingwood  had  given  me  near  his  own,  as  if 
the  better  to  signify  his  protection.  When 
night  came  I  went  up  on  deck  alone. 

More  than  ever  I  felt  the  enemy  all  about 
me  and  I  reflected  with  great  bitterness  upon 
my  career  cut  short  so  soon.  Already  I  had 
been  a  prisoner  of  war  for  one  month  and  Ad- 
miral CoUingwood,  treating  me  with  such  great 
good-will  in  public,  had  spoken  to  me  in  private 
only  once,  the  first  day  I  had  come  aboard 
his  ship.  He  was  kind  but  cold  and  in  his 
manner,  as  well  as  in  that  of  the  British  offi- 
cers, there  was  a  point  where  all  effusion  ceased 
and  where  the  policy  of  stiff  formality  pre- 
sented itself  like  a  barrier  in  every  way.  It 
was  in  this  that  the  life  among  foreigners  made 
itself  felt. 

I  thought  of  this  with  a  kind  of  terror  while 
[249] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

considering  my  abject  position,  which  might 
last  until  the  end  of  the  war.  And  the  sacri- 
fice of  my  youth,  lost  utterly  in  the  shameful 
uselessness  of  the  prisoner,  seemed  inevitable. 

The  frigate  ran  swiftly,  under  full  sail,  and 
I  could  not  feel  her  go.  I  leaned  my  two  hands 
on  a  rope  and  my  forehead  on  my  hands  and, 
bowed  like  this,  I  gazed  into  the  waters  of  the 
ocean.  Their  green  and  sombre  depths  gave 
me  a  sort  of  dizziness.  The  silence  of  the  night 
was  unbroken  save  by  English  shouts. 

For  an  instant  I  hoped  the  ship  might  take 
me  far  from  France,  so  I  would  no  longer  see, 
the  next  day,  those  straight,  white  coasts  cut 
into  the  kindly,  cherished  soil  of  my  poor 
country. 

In  this  way,  I  thought,  I  would  be  freed 
from  the  perpetual  desire  this  view  gave  me, 
and  I  would  at  least  no  longer  suffer  the  tor- 
ture of  being  unable  even  to  think  of  escaping 
without  dishonour.  A  torture  of  Tantalus,  by 
which  an  avid  thirst  of  country  must  devour 
me  for  a  long,  long  time.  I  was  overwhelmed 
with  loneliness  and  I  wished  for  some  swift 
occasion  when  I  should  be  killed.  I  dreamed 
of  bringing  about  my  death  quickly  and  in  the 
grave  and  splendid  manner  of  the  ancients.  I 
[250] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


imagined  an  heroic  end,  worthy  of  those  that 
had  been  the  subject  of  so  many  discussions 
among  us  pages  and  warriors'  children,  the 
object  of  so  much  envy  among  my  companions. 

I  fell  into  those  musings  which,  at  eighteen, 
resemble  more  a  continuation  of  action  and  of 
battle  than  serious  meditation,  when  some  one 
gently  touched  my  arm  and,  facing  about,  I 
saw  standing  behind  me  the  good  Admiral 
Collingwood. 

His  night  glass  was  in  his  hand  and  he 
was  in  full  dress  uniform,  with  the  severe  Brit- 
ish regimentals.  He  placed  one  hand  on  my 
shoulder  in  fatherly  fashion,  and  I  noticed  a 
look  of  deep  brooding  in  his  big  black  eyes  and 
on  his  forehead.  His  white  hair,  half  powdered, 
fell  quite  unheeded  over  his  ears.  Through 
the  even  quiet  of  his  voice  and  manner  there 
ran  an  undertone  of  sadness,  which  struck  me 
that  evening  particularly,  and  which  filled  me 
from  the  first  with  greater  respect  and  atten- 
tiveness  towards  him. 

— "Already  you  are  sad,  my  boy,"  he  said 
to  me.  "I  have  a  few  little  things  to  say  to 
you.    Would  you  like  to  chat  a  bit  with  me?" 

I  stammered  a  few  vague  phrases  of  appre- 
ciation and  politeness  which  probably  did  not 
[251] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

make  sense,  for  he  did  not  listen  to  them,  and 
sat  down  on  a  bench,  holding  me  by  the  hand. 
I  was  standing  before  him. 

— "You  have  been  a  prisoner  only  a  month," 
he  went  on,  "and  I  have  been  one  for  thirty- 
three  years.  Yes,  my  young  friend,  I  am  a 
prisoner  of  the  Sea.  She  guards  me  on  all 
sides ;  waves,  forever  waves.  I  see  only  them, 
I  hear  only  them.  My  hair  was  whitened  under 
their  foam,  and  my  back  was  bowed  a  little 
beneath  their  spray.  I  have  passed  so  little 
time  in  England,  that  I  know  it  only  by  the 
charts.  My  country  is  an  ideal  being,  which 
I  have  merely  glimpsed,  but  which  I  serve  like 
a  slave  and  which  grows  the  more  severe  with 
me  the  more  I  grow  necessary  to  it.  It  is  the 
common  lot,  and  to  have  such  chains  is  what 
we  should  desire  most.  But  sometimes  they 
are  very  heavy." 

He  broke  off  a  moment  and  we  were  both 
silent.  For  I  would  not  have  dared  say  a  word, 
seeing  that  he  was  about  to  go  on : 

— "I  have  reflected  a  great  deal,"  he  spoke 
again,  "and  I  have  questioned  myself  about  my 
duty  when  I  had  you  come  on  board  my  ship. 
I  might  have  let  you  be  taken  to  England. 
But  there  you  might  have  fallen  upon  misery 
[252] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


from  which  I  can  always  protect  you,  or  upon 
despair  from  which  also  I  hope  to  save  you.  I 
felt  a  very  sincere  friendship  for  your  father 
and  I  shall  give  him  a  proof  of  it  now.  If 
he  sees  me,  he  will  be  satisfied  with  me,  will  he 
not?" 

The  Admiral  was  silent  again  and  pressed 
my  hand.  He  even  bent  forward  in  the  dark- 
ness and  looked  at  me  closely  to  see  how  I  took 
his  words.  But  I  was  too  much  stupefied  to 
answer  him.    He  went  on  more  quickly: 

— "I  have  written  already  to  the  Admiralty 
to  have  you  sent  back  to  France  at  the  first 
exchange  of  prisoners.  But  that  might  take 
a  long  time,"  he  added,  "and  I  won't  hide  it 
from  you.  For,  beside  the  fact  that  Bona- 
parte does  not  lend  himself  readily  to  this  pro- 
cedure, few  of  us  are  being  taken  prisoners. 
Meanwhile,  let  me  tell  you  that  I  should  be 
glad  to  see  you  study  the  language  of  your 
enemies.  You  see  that  we  know  yours.  If 
you  care  to,  we  will  study  together,  and  I  will 
lend  you  Shakespeare  and  Captain  Cook.  Do 
not  distress  yourself,  you  will  be  free  before 
I  am,  for  if  the  Emperor  does  not  make  peace, 
I  shall  be  prisoner  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

This  tone  of  kindliness  by  which  he  asso- 
[253] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 


ciated  himself  with  me,  established  a  comrade- 
ship between  us  in  his  floating  prison,  made 
me  suffer  for  him.  I  felt  that  in  this  life  of 
sacrifice  and  isolation,  he  had  need  of  doing 
good  to  console  himself  secretly  for  the  harsh- 
ness of  his  mission  of  endless  battling. 

— "Milord,"  I  told  him,  "before  teaching  me 
the  words  of  a  new  language,  teach  me  the 
thoughts  by  which  you  have  attained  this  per- 
fect serenity,  this  evenness  of  spirit  which  re- 
sembles happiness  and  which  hides  an  eternal 
weariness.  .  .  .  Forgive  me  for  what  I  am 
about  to  say  to  you,  but  I  fear  that  this  virtue 
is  only  perpetual  dissembling." 

— "You  are  deceiving  yourself  very  much," 
he  rejoined,  "the  sense  of  duty  ends  by  dom- 
inating the  spirit  to  such  extent,  as  to  enter 
into  our  character  and  to  become  one  of  its 
principal  traits,  just  as  healthy  nourishment, 
perpetually  taken,  may  change  the  volume  of 
our  blood  and  become  one  of  the  elements  of 
our  constitution.  More  than  any  man,  per- 
haps, I  have  proven  to  what  point  self  may 
come  to  be  easily  forgotten.  But  to  lay  aside 
man  completely  is  impossible,  and  there  are 
matters  to  which  our  hearts  cling  more  closely 
than  we  might  want." 

[254] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


Here  he  broke  off  and  took  his  long  glass. 
He  rested  it  on  my  shoulder  to  observe  a  dis- 
tant light  which  glided  along  the  horizon,  and 
knowing  at  once  by  its  motion  what  it  was, 
he  said: 

— "Fishing  boats!"  He  came  close  to  me, 
sitting  on  the  deck  of  the  ship.  I  perceived 
that  he  had  been  wanting  for  quite  a  while  to 
tell  me  something  that  he  did  not  broach.  Then, 
suddenly : 

— "You  never  speak  to  me  of  your  father. 
I  am  astonished  that  you  do  not  ask  me  about 
him,  about  his  sufferings,  about  his  words,  his 
wishes!" 

And  as  the  night  was  very  clear,  I  saw  again 
that  I  was  being  closely  observed  by  those  big 
black  eyes. 

— "I  was  afraid  of  being  indiscreet,"  I  an- 
swered, embarrassed. 

He  pressed  my  arm,  as  if  to  prevent  my  say- 
ing more. 

— "That  is  not  it,  my  child,  that  is  not  it!" 

And  he  shook  his  head,  doubtfully  and 
kindly. 

— "I  have  found  few  occasions  to  talk  with 
you.  Milord." 

— "Still  less,"  he  interrupted.  "You  would 
[255] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

have  talked  to  me  about  that  every  day,  if 
you  had  eared  to." 

I  noticed  some  agitation  and  a  little  of  re- 
proach in  his  accent.  That  was  what  he  had  at 
heart.  I  bethought  myself  of  another  foolish 
reply  to  justify  myself.  Nothing  makes  us 
so  silly  as  false  excuses. 

— "Milord,  the  humiliating  sense  of  being  a 
captive  engrosses  me  more  than  j^ou  can  think." 
And  I  remember  I  believed,  when  saying  this, 
that  I  took  on  an  air  of  dignity  and  a  manner 
like  Regulus,  fit  to  give  him  a  great  respect  for 
me. 

— "Ah,  poor  boy,  poor  child! — ^poor  boy," 
he  called  me — "You  are  not  right.  You  don't 
go  down  into  yourself.  Search  well,  and  you 
will  find  an  indifference  for  which  you  are  not 
responsible  as  much  as  is  the  military  destiny 
of  your  poor  father." 

He  had  opened  up  the  way  to  Truth,  and  I 
let  her  start. 

— "I  certainly  did  not  know  my  father," 
I  said.    "I  barely  saw  him  once,  at  Malta," 

—"There  is  the  truth!"  he  exclaimed.  "There 

is  the  cruelty,  my  friend!    Some  day  my  two 

daughters  will  speak  like  that.    They  will  say: 

iVe  do  not  know  our  father!'  Sarah  and  Mary 

[256] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


will  say  it!  And  yet,  I  love  them  with  an  ar- 
dent and  tender  heart,  I  bring  them  up  from 
afar,  I  watch  them  from  my  ship,  I  write  them 
every  day,  I  direct  their  studies,  their  work, 
I  send  them  thoughts  and  sentiments,  I  re- 
ceive in  exchange  their  childish  confidences.  I 
rebuke  them,  I  calm  down,  I  make  up  with 
them.  I  know  all  they  do!  I  know  what  day 
they  have  gone  to  church  in  too  fine  dresses.  I 
give  their  mother  instructions  about  them  con- 
tinually. I  can  see  in  advance  who  will  love 
them,  who  will  woo  them,  who  will  marry  them. 
Their  husbands  shall  be  my  sons.  I  am  making 
pious,  simple  women  of  them.  No  one  can 
be  more  a  father  than  I  am.  .  .  .  Well,  it 
counts  for  nothing.    For  they  don't  see  me." 

He  spoke  these  last  words  in  a  moved  voice, 
beneath  which  I  felt  tears.  .  .  .  After  a  mo- 
ment's silence  he  went  on: 

— "Yes,  Sarah  has  never  sat  on  my  lap 
since  she  was  two  years  old,  and  I  have  held 
Mary  in  my  arms  only  when  her  eyes  had  not 
yet  opened.  Yes,  it  is  right  that  you  have  been 
indifferent  about  your  father  and  that  they 
will  grow  so  about  me  some  day.  One  doesn't 
love  an  invisible  person. 

''What  is  their  father  to  them?  A  letter 
[257] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

each  day.  A  more  or  less  chilly  counsel.  No- 
body loves  advice ;  they  love  a  being.  And  a 
being  they  do  not  see,  does  not  exist ;  they  do 
not  love  him.  And  when  he  is  dead,  he  is 
no  more  absent  than  he  already  was, — and  they 
do  not  weep  for  him." 

He  choked,  and  stopped.  Not  wishing  to 
pursue  this  sentiment  of  grief  before  a 
stranger,  he  moved  away.  He  walked  about 
awhile  and  paced  the  deck,  back  and  forth. 
At  first  I  was  greatly  moved  at  the  sight  of 
this,  and  it  was  remorse  he  made  me  feel  for 
not  having  felt  enough  what  a  father  means. 
To  this  evening  I  owed  the  first  good,  natural, 
sane  emotion  my  heart  had  experienced.  By 
these  profound  regrets,  by  this  insurmountable 
grief  amidst  the  most  brilliant  military  splen- 
dour, I  understood  all  I  had  lost  through  not 
knowing  the  love  of  home,  which  could  leave 
in  a  great  heart  such  poignant  regrets.  I  un- 
derstood all  the  artificiality  there  was  in  our 
barbaric,  brutal  education,  in  our  insatiable 
need  of  dazzling  activity. 

As  by  a  sudden  revelation  of  the  heart  I 

saw  that  here  was  an  adorable  and  regrettable 

life  from  which  I  had  been  violently  snatched. 

A  true  life  of  paternal  love  in  exchange  for 

[258] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


which  a  false  Hfe  had  been  built  for  me,  made 
up  of  hatred  and  all  manner  of  puerile  vani- 
ties. I  understood  that  there  was  but  one  thing 
more  beautiful  than  home,  one  thing  to  which 
this  might  be  offered  up  in  sanctity:  it  was 
that  other  home,  the  country!  And  while 
the  brave  old  man  who  was  moving  away  from 
me  wept  because  he  was  good,  I  put  my  head 
in  my  two  hands  and  wept  because  thus  far 
I  had  been  so  wicked. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  Admiral  returned 
to  me: 

— "I  must  tell  you,"  he  resumed  in  a  firmer 
tone,  "that  we  shall  not  delay  pulling  closer 
to  France.  I  am  placed  an  eternal  sentinel 
before  your  seaports.  I  have  only  one  word 
to  add,  and  I  wanted  it  to  be  between  ourselves. 
Remember  that  you  are  here  on  parole,  and 
that  I  shall  not  watch  you  at  all.  But,  my 
child,  the  more  time  goes  by,  the  greater  will 
be  your  trial.  You  are  still  very  young.  If 
temptation  should  become  too  strong  for  your 
courage  to  resist,  come  to  me  when  you  are 
afraid  of  succumbing,  and  do  not  hide  from 
me.  I  may  save  you  from  a  dishonourable  deed 
which  some  officers  have  committed  to  the  detri- 
ment of  their  reputations.  Remember,  it  is 
[259] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

permitted  to  break  the  chain  of  a  galley  slave 
if  you  can,  but  never  your  word  of  honour." 

He  left  me  upon  these  last  words,  pressing 
my  hand. 

I  do  not  know,  sir,  whether  you  have  no- 
ticed in  life,  that  the  revolutions  which  take 
place  in  our  souls  often  depend  on  one  day,  one 
'jour,  one  memorable  and  unforeseen  conversa- 
tion which  shakes  us  and  drops  a  new  seed  into 
us  that  sprouts  slowly  and  of  which  the  re- 
mainder of  our  actions  are  merely  the  sequel 
and  the  natural  outgrowth.  Such  were  for  me 
the  afternoon  at  Fontainebleau  and  the  night 
on  the  British  vessel. 

Admiral  Collingwood  left  me  a  prey  to  a 
new  conflict.  That  within  me  which  had  been 
only  a  profound  weariness,  an  immense  and 
youthful  impatience  to  be  doing,  became  an 
ungovernable  need  of  country,  a  homesickness ! 
To  see  how  suffering  had  at  length  preyed 
upon  a  man  always  separated  from  the  mother 
country,  made  me  feel  a  great  rush  for  knov*^- 
ing  and  adoring  mine.  I  conjured  up  pas- 
sionate ties,  which  in  fact  did  not  await  me  at 
all.  I  imagined  I  had  a  family  and  fell  to 
musing  about  parents  I  had  barely  known  and 
which  I  reproached  myself  for  having  not  cher- 
[260] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


ished  enough.  While  in  fact,  accustomed  to 
count  me  for  naught,  they  had  lived  in  their 
coldness  and  egoism,  perfectly  indifferent  to 
my  abandoned  and  ruined  existence. 

In  this  way  even  the  good  in  me  turned  bad. 
In  this  way,  the  sage  advice  the  brave  Admiral 
had  believed  it  his  duty  to  give  me,  had  come 
to  me  completely  enveloped  with  his  own  emo- 
tion which  spoke  to  me  louder  than  himself. 
His  troubled  voice  had  touched  me  more  than 
the  wisdom  of  his  words.  And  while  he  be- 
lieved he  was  tightening  my  chain,  he  had  more 
keenly  roused  in  me  the  imbridled  desire  to 
break  it. 

It  goes  this  way  nearly  always  with  all 
written  or  spoken  advice. 

Experience,  only,  and  the  reasoning  which 
springs  from  our  own  reflections,  are  able  to 
teach  us.  Look,  you  who  have  to  do  with  it, 
look  at  the  uselessness  of  literature.  Of  what 
use  is  it?  Whom  do  you  convert?  And  by 
whom  are  you  ever  understood,  if  you  please? 
Nearly  always  you  make  the  cause  against 
which  you  are  pleading,  succeed.  See,  there  is 
one  of  you  who  makes  "Clarisse"  the  most 
beautiful  of  epic  poems  on  the  virtue  of  woman; 
then  what  happens?  Someone  takes  the  other 
[261] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

side,  the  side  of  Lovelace,  whom  she  outshines 
by  her  virginal  splendour,  which  the  rape  itself 
has  not  tarnished,  of  Lovelace,  who  goes  on  his 
knees  to  implore  the  forgiveness  of  his  sacred 
victim,  and  cannot  unbend  that  soul,  whose 
body  had  failed  to  drag  it  down  in  its  fall; 
everything  is  all  wrong  in  your  teachings.  You 
are  of  no  use  whatever  but  to  stir  up  vices 
which,  proud  of  the  way  you  paint  them,  come 
to  admire  themselves  in  your  picture  and  think 
themselves  beautiful. 

True,  it  does  not  matter  to  you;  but  my 
simple  and  splendid  CoUingwood  had  actually 
made  a  friend  of  me,  and  my  conduct  was  not 
a  matter  of  indifference  to  him.  Hence  he 
took  much  pleasure  at  first  in  seeing  me  devoted 
to  serious  and  constant  study.  In  my  habitual 
reserve  and  my  silence  he  also  found  some- 
thing sympathetic  to  English  stolidity,  and 
he  grew  accustomed  to  open  his  heart  to  me 
on  many  an  occasion  and  to  confide  matters 
to  me  that  were  not  without  importance.  After 
awhile  I  was  looked  upon  as  his  secretary  and 
his  relative,  and  I  spoke  English  well  enough 
not  to  seem  a  stranger  any  longer. 

Nevertheless  it  was  a  cruel  life  I  was  lead- 
ing and  I  found  the  gloomy  days  at  sea  very 
[262] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


long.  For  whole  years  we  never  stopped  roam- 
ing around  France  and  ceaselessly  I  saw 
sketched  upon  the  horizon  the  coasts  of  this 
land  which  Hugo  Grotius  has  called:  "The 
most  beautiful  Kingdom  next  to  that  of 
Heaven."  Then  we  would  put  to  sea  again  and 
for  whole  months  there  would  be  nothing  about 
me  but  fogs  and  mountains  of  water.  When  a 
ship  passed  near  us  or  far  from  us,  it  would 
be  English.  None  other  was  permitted  to 
give  itself  up  to  the  winds,  and  the  ocean  no 
longer  heard  a  word  that  was  not  English.  The 
English  themselves  were  dejected  and  com- 
plained that  the  ocean,  these  days,  had  become 
a  desert  where  they  encountered  one  another 
eternally,  and  Europe  a  fortress  which  was 
closed  to  them. 

Sometimes  my  wooden  prison  would  come 
so  close  to  shore  that  I  could  make  out  men 
and  children  on  the  beach.  Then  my  heart 
would  beat  fast,  and  an  inward  rage  devour 
me  with  such  violence,  that  I  would  hide  in 
the  hold  so  as  not  to  succumb  to  the  desire 
to  jump  in  and  swim  for  it.  But  when  I  had 
come  back  to  the  indefatigable  Collingwood,  I 
would  be  ashamed  of  my  childish  weaknesses, 
I  could  never  tire  admiring  how  with  so  pro- 
[263] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

found  a  melancholy  he  united  such  aggressive 
courage.  This  man,  who  had  known  nothing 
but  war  and  waves  these  forty  years,  never 
ceased  to  apply  himself  to  the  study  of  them 
as  to  an  inexhaustible  science.  When  one 
ship  gave  out,  he  climbed  on  board  another, 
like  a  pitiless  horseman.  He  used  them  and 
killed  them  under  him.  He  wore  out  seven 
with  me.  He  passed  the  nights  fully  dressed, 
sitting  on  his  cannons,  all  the  time  figuring 
out  the  art  of  keeping  his  vessel  stockstill,  a 
sentry,  in  the  same  spot  at  sea,  without  an- 
choring, despite  wind  and  current.  He  was 
forever  training  his  crews,  watching  out  over 
them  and  for  them.  This  man  had  enjoyed 
no  riches  whatever.  And  though  he  was  called 
a  Peer  of  England,  he  loved  his  pewter  soup 
bowl  like  any  sailor.  Then,  returning  to  his 
cabin,  he  became  the  family  father  again  and 
wrote  to  his  daughters  not  to  play  the  fine  lady ; 
to  read,  not  novels,  but  tales  of  travel,  es- 
says and  Shakespeare  as  often  as  they  pleased. 
He  wrote : 

— "We  have  had  a  fight  on  the  birthday 
of  my  little  Sarah"— after  the  battle  of  Traf- 
algar which  I  had  the  grief  to  see  him  win, 
[264] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


and  the  plans  of  which  he  had  drawn  with  his 
friend,  Nelson,  whom  he  succeeded. 

Sometimes  he  felt  his  health  giving  way.  He 
would  ask  England  for  relief.  But  the  inex- 
orable answered  him:  *Stay  at  sea,'  and  offered 
him  some  dignity,  or  a  gold  medal  for  each 
fine  action.  His  breast  was  overloaded  with 
them.    Again  he  wrote: 

— "Since  I  have  left  my  country,  I  have  not 
spent  ten  days  in  any  port.  My  eyes  are  weak- 
ening. When  I  shall  be  able  to  see  my  chil- 
dren, the  sea  will  have  made  me  blind.  I  lament 
that  out  of  so  many  officers  it  is  so  difficult  to 
find  me  a  substitute  of  superior  ability."  Eng- 
land replied :  *  You  will  stay  at  sea,  always  at 
sea.'    And  at  sea  he  remained  until  his  death. 

This  life,  Roman  and  imposing,  crushed  me 
by  its  simplicity,  when  I  had  contemplated 
it  only  one  day  in  its  grave  and  thoughtful 
resignation.  I  scorned  myself  a  great  deal, 
I,  who  was  nothing  as  a  citizen,  nothing  as  a 
father,  nor  as  a  son,  nor  as  a  public  man,  for 
complaining  when  he  did  not  complain.  He 
had  never  let  himself  be  fathomed  despite  him- 
self but  once,  and  I,  useless  child — I,  an  ant 
among  ants  that  crowded  around  the  feet  of 
the  Sultan  of  France — I  reproached  myself 
[265] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

for  my  secret  desire  to  return  and  offer  myself 
up  to  the  hazard  of  his  whims  and  to  become 
again  one  of  the  grains  of  the  dust  he  would 
be  kneading  with  blood. 

The  meeting  with  this  true  citizen,  devoted, 
not — as  I  had  been — to  one  man,  but  to  coun- 
try and  duty,  was  a  fortunate  one  for  me. 
For  I  learned,  in  this  severe  school,  that  that 
is  the  veritable  greatness  we  must  hencefor- 
ward seek  amidst  arms  and  how  high — if  well 
understood — it  lifts  our  profession  above  all 
others.  It  may  keep  worthy  of  admiration 
the  memory  of  some  of  us,  no  matter  what  the 
future  of  war  and  armies  may  be. 

No  man  ever  possessed  to  any  higher  degree 
this  inward  peace  born  of  the  sense  of  sacred 
duty,  and  the  modest  carefreeness  of  the  sol- 
dier to  whom  it  matters  little  if  his  name  be 
famous,  provided  the  public  weal  prospers. 
One  day  I  saw  him  write : 

"To  maintain  the  independence  of  my  coun- 
try is  the  foremost  will  of  my  life  and  I  would 
rather  my  body  be  added  to  the  rampart  of 
the  country  than  dragged  in  futile  pomp 
through  an  idle  mob.  To  England  are  due 
my  life  and  my  strength.  Do  not  speak  of 
^  [266] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


my  last  wound,  it  might  be  believed  that  I 
glorify  myself  because  of  my  danger." 

His  melancholy  was  profound,  but  full  of 
greatness.  It  did  not  keep  him  from  per- 
petual activity  and  he  gave  me  the  measure 
of  what  an  intelligent  fighting  man  should  be, 
professing  not  for  ambition's,  but  for  art's 
sake  the  Art  of  War.  The  man  who  judges 
it  loftily  and  often  scorns  it  like  Montecuccoli, 
who  retired  after  Turenne's  death,  because  he 
no  longer  deigned  to  take  the  part  against  an 
ordinary  player. 

But  I  was  still  too  young  to  comprehend 
all  the  merits  of  this  character  and  what  ap- 
pealed to  me  most  was  the  ambition  to  hold, 
in  my  own  country,  a  rank  similar  to  his.  When 
I  saw  the  Kings  of  Southern  Europe  beg  his 
protection,  and  even  Napoleon  stir  with  the 
hope  that  CoUingwood  might  be  in  the  Indian 
Ocean,  I  came  to  calling  down  even  in  my 
prayers  for  the  chance  to  escape  and  I  pressed 
the  ambition  which  I  always  nursed  nearly  to 
the  point  of  breaking  my  parole.  Yes,  I  went 
as  far  as  that. 

One  day,  the  ship,  the  Ocean,  which  bore 
us,  put  into  Gibraltar.  I  went  on  shore  with 
the  Admiral,  and  walking  alone  through  the 
[267] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

town  I  met  an  officer  of  the  7th  Hussars  who 
had  been  made  a  prisoner  in  the  Spanish  cam- 
paign and  taken  to  Gibraltar  with  four  of 
his  comrades.  They  had  the  town  for  a  prison, 
but  they  were  closely  watched. 

I  had  known  this  officer  in  France.  We 
were  pleased  to  meet  again,  and  in  situations 
very  nearly  similar.  It  had  been  so  long  since 
a  Frenchman  had  spoken  French  to  me,  that 
I  thought  him  eloquent,  although  he  was  per- 
fectly silly.  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour  we 
revealed  our  situations  to  each  other.  Right 
away  he  told  me  frankly  that  he  intended  to 
escape  with  his  comrades.  That  they  had 
found  an  excellent  opportunity  and  that  he 
would  not  let  himself  be  told  twice  to  follow 
them.  He  urged  me  strongly  to  do  likewise. 
I  answered  him  that  he  was  very  lucky  for 
being  watched.  But  that  I,  who  was  not,  could 
not  escape  without  dishonour  and  that  he,  his 
companions  and  myself  were  not  in  the  same 
boat.     That  seemed  too  fine  a  point  to  him. 

— "My  word!"  he  said  to  me,  "I  am  no  hair- 
splitter,  and  if  you  care  to  I  shall  send  you 
a  bishop  who  will  tell  you  his  opinion  on  it. 
But  in  your  place  I  would  go.  I  can  see  but 
two  things — being  free — or  not.  Do  you  know 
[268] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


that  your  promotion  has  been  lost  during  the 
five  years  that  you  have  been  dragging  around 
in  that  English  tub?  The  lieutenants  of  your 
day  are  already  colonels." 

Thereupon  his  companions  came  up,  and 
took  me  along  into  a  very  bad  looking  house 
where  they  drank  sherry,  and  there  they 
cited  so  many  captains  become  generals,  and 
sub-lieutenants  become  viceroys,  that  my  head 
turned,  and  I  promised  them  to  be  in  the 
same  spot,  the  day  after  the  next  at  midnight. 

We  were  to  be  taken  from  there  in  a  small 
yawl  they  had  hired  from  honest  smugglers 
who  would  take  us  aboard  a  French  vessel 
chartered  to  take  wounded  of  our  Army  to 
Toulon.  The  project  seemed  an  admirable 
one  to  me.  And  my  fine  companions,  having 
made  me  drink  off  glass  after  glass  to  quiet 
the  whisperings  of  my  conscience,  ended  their 
discourse  with  a  victorious  argument.  They 
swore  by  their  own  heads  that  I  might  have, 
at  the  strictest,  some  regard  for  a  brave  man 
who  had  treated  me  well,  but  that  everything 
confirmed  their  certainty  that  a  Britisher  was 
not  a  man. 

I  returned  on  board  the  Ocean  quite 
thoughtful,  and  went  to  sleep.  When  I  awak- 
[269] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

ened  and  saw  my  position  clearly,  I  asked 
myself  if  my  fellow  patriots  had  not  been  mak- 
ing fun  of  me.  Nevertheless,  the  desire  for 
liberty  and  an  ever  keen  ambition,  aroused 
since  my  childhood,  drove  me  to  the  escape, 
despite  the  shame  I  felt  for  being  false  to  my 
oath.  I  passed  the  entire  day  with  the  Ad- 
miral without  daring  to  look  him  in  the  face, 
and  I  endeavoured  to  find  him  inferior  and 
narrow-minded. 

At  table  I  spoke  quite  loud  and  ar- 
rogantly about  Napoleon's  greatness.  I  be- 
came exalted,  I  bragged  of  his  universal  genius 
which  divined  the  laws  while  making  the  codes, 
and  the  future  while  shaping  events.  I  dwelt 
insolently  upon  the  superiority  of  this  genius, 
compared  to  the  mediocrity  of  the  talents  of 
the  tacticians.  I  hoped  to  be  contradicted.  But 
contrary  to  my  expectation,  I  met  among  the 
British  officers  still  more  admiration  for  the 
Emperor  than  I  could  show  for  this  implacable 
enemy  of  theirs. 

Lord  Collingwood,  especially,  emerged  from 
his  gloomy  silence  and  his  continuous  medita- 
tions. He  praised  him  in  terms  so  just,  so 
forceful,  so  exact,  and  made  his  officers  view, 
at  the  same  time,  the  greatness  of  the  Em- 
[270] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


peror's  prevision,  the  magic  quickness  of  his 
execution,  the  firmness  of  his  orders,  the  sure- 
ness  of  his  judgment,  his  penetration  in  ne- 
gotiations, his  clearness  of  ideas  in  counsels, 
his  greatness  in  battle,  his  calm  in  danger,  his 
constancy  in  preparing  enterprises,  his  pride 
in  the  altitude  given  to  France,  and  in  reality 
all  the  qualities  that  composed  the  great  man, 
that  I  asked  myself  what  history  could  ever 
add  to  this  eulogy.  I  was  floored.  For  I  had 
tried  to  rouse  my  ire  against  the  Admiral  in 
the  hope  of  hearing  him  proffer  unjust  charges. 

Wickedly,  I  had  wanted  to  put  him  in  the 
wrong  and  that  one  ill  considered  or  insulting 
phrase  on  his  part  might  serve  to  justify  the 
disloyalty  I  contemplated.  But  he  seemed, 
on  the  contrary,  to  be  doing  his  utmost  to  re- 
double his  kindness.  And  as  his  assiduity  made 
the  others  suppose  I  had  some  new  sorrow 
for  which  it  was  right  to  console  me,  they  were 
all  more  attentive  and  indulgent  towards  me 
than  ever.  It  disgusted  me  and  I  left  the 
table. 

The  next  day  the  Admiral  took  me  to  Gibral- 
tar again,  to  my  misfortune.  We  had  to  spend 
a  week  there. 

The  evening  of  the  escape  arrived. 
[271] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

My  head  whirled.  I  deliberated  all  the 
time.  I  allowed  specious  motives  and  I  be- 
came dizzy  with  their  falsity.  A  violent  con- 
diet  raged  within  me.  But  while  my  spirit 
vrenched  and  wrestled  with  itself,  my  body 
lollowed  all  alone  the  road  of  flight,  as  if  it 
were  the  arbiter  betwixt  ambition  and  honour. 

Without  being  aware  of  it  myself,  I  had 
made  a  bundle  of  my  clothes,  and  I  went  on 
my  way  from  the  house  in  Gibraltar  where  we 
were,  to  the  meeting  place,  when  suddenly  I 
stopped  short,  and  felt  that  it  was  impossible. 

There  is  something  poisonous  in  a  shameful 
deed  which  can  be  tasted  by  a  gallant  man 
when  his  lips  touch  the  rim  of  the  beaker 
of  perdition.  He  cannot  even  sip  of  it  without 
being  ready  to  die  of  it. 

When  I  realised  what  I  was  about  to  do, 
that  I  was  going  to  break  my  parole,  such  a 
terror  took  hold  of  me,  that  I  believed  I  had 
gone  mad.  I  ran  to  the  beach  and  from  the 
fatal  hovel  as  from  a  pesthouse,  not  daring  to 
turn  and  look  at  it.  I  jumped  in  and  swam, 
and  during  the  night,  I  boarded  our  ship,  the 
Ocean,  my  floating  prison.  I  climbed  aboard 
transported,  clutching  the  ropes.  Arriving  on 
deck,  I  gripped  the  mainmast,  and  clung  to 
[272] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


it  passionately,  as  if  to  a  refuge  which  guarded 
me  against  dishonour.  And  at  the  same  time, 
the  sense  of  the  greatness  of  my  sacrifice 
tearing  my  heart,  I  fell  to  my  knees  and,  rest- 
ing my  head  against  the  iron  girders  of  the 
big  mast,  burst  into  tears  like  a  child. 

The  skipper  of  the  Ocean  found  me  in 
this  state  and  believed,  or  pretended  to  be- 
lieve, I  was  ill.  He  had  me  carried  to  my  cabin. 
I  begged  him  to  place  a  sentinel  at  my  door 
to  prevent  my  going  out.  They  shut  me  in, 
and  I  breathed  to  be  relieved  at  last  from  the 
torture  of  being  my  own  jailer.  The  next 
day,  at  daylight,  I  saw  we  were  out  at  sea,  and 
I  calmed  down  a  bit  for  losing  sight  of  land, 
the  object  of  all  the  miserable  temptation  of 
my  situation.  I  thought  of  it  more  resignedly, 
when  my  little  door  opened  and  the  good  Ad- 
miral entered  alone. 

— "I  have  come  to  say  good-bye,"  he  began 
looking  less  grave  than  usual.  "You  are  leav- 
ing for  France  to-morrow  morning." 

~  *0h,  my  God.    Is  it  to  test  me  that  you 
tell  me  that.  Milord?" 

— "That  would  be  a  very  cruel  game,  my 
boy,"  he  rejoined.    "Already  I  have  been  very 
wrong  towards  you.    I  should  have  left  you  a 
[273] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

prisoner  on  the  Northumberland  and  given 
you  back  your  word.  Then  you  might  have 
plotted  against  your  keepers  without  remorse, 
and  used  your  wits,  without  scruple,  to  make 
your  escape.  You  have  suffered  more,  hav- 
ing had  more  freedom.  But  thank  God !  you 
resisted  an  opportunity  yesterday,  which  would 
have  dishonoured  you.  It  would  have  meant 
shipwreck  in  the  harbour,  for  since  two  weeks 
past  I  have  been  negotiating  for  your  ex- 
change, and  Admiral  Rosily  has  just  secured 
it.  I  trembled  for  you  yesterday  for  I  knew 
of  the  project  of  your  comrades.  I  have  let 
them  escape  for  your  sake,  lest  in  arresting 
them  they  would  arrest  you.  And  what  could 
we  have  done  to  hide  that?  You  would  have 
been  lost,  my  boy,  believe  me,  you  would  have 
been  badly  received  by  Napoleon's  old  braves. 
They  have  the  right  to  be  testy  as  to  honour/' 

I  was  so  confused  that  I  did  not  know  how 
to  thank  him.  He  saw  my  embarrassment  and, 
hastening  to  cut  short  the  poor  phrases  in 
which  I  tried  to  stammer  that  I  regretted  it, 
he  continued: 

— "Come,  come,  none  of  what  we  call 
French  compliments.  We  are  satisfied  with 
each  other,  that's  all.  And  your  people  have, 
[274] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


I  believe,  a  proverb  that  says:  There  is  no 
beautiful  prison.  Let  me  die  in  mine,  my 
friend.  I  am  used  to  mine,  I  have  jolly  well 
had  to  be.  But  it  won't  last  much  longer.  I 
feel  my  legs  shaking  under  me  and  getting 
thin.  For  the  fourth  time  I  have  asked  Lord 
Mulgrave  to  be  retired,  and  he  has  again  re- 
fused me.  He  writes  that  he  does  not  know 
hovv^  to  replace  me.  When  I  am  dead,  they 
shall  have  to  find  some  one  nevertheless,  and  it 
would  do  no  harm  to  take  precautions.  I  am 
to  remain  on  sentry  in  the  Mediterranean.  But 
you,  my  boy,  don't  lose  time.  There  is  a  sloop 
that  will  take  you.  I  have  only  one  thing  to 
suggest  to  you,  that  is  to  devote  yourself  to  a 
principle  rather  than  to  a  man.  The  love  of 
your  country  is  one  big  enough  to  fill  a  whole 
heart  and  keep  busy  an  entire  intelligence." 

— "Alas!  Milord,"  I  answered,  "there  are 
times  when  it  is  not  easy  to  know  what  the 
country  wishes.  I  am  going  to  ask  it  of 
mine!" 

Once  again  we  said  good-bye  and  with  a  full 
heart  I  left  this  worthy  man.  I  learned  of  his 
death  shortly  after.  He  died  out  at  sea,  the 
way  he  had  lived  for  forty-nine  years,  without 
complaining,  without  glorying  and  without 
[275] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

having  seen  his  two  daughters  again.  Alone 
and  sombre  hke  one  of  those  old  hounds  of 
Ossian's  that  guard  eternally  the  coasts  of 
England  amidst  the  waves  and  the  fogs. 

At  his  school  I  had  learned  all  that  the  ex- 
iles of  war  may  suffer  and  all  that  the  sense 
of  duty  may  quell  in  a  great  soul.  Thoroughly 
imbued  with  this  example  and  grown  more 
serious  by  my  sufferings  and  the  sight  of  his, 
I  went  to  Paris  to  present  myself,  with  my 
prison  experience,  to  the  all-powerful  master 
I  had  left. 


[276] 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE   RECEPTION 

When  Captain  Renaud  broke  off,  I  looked 
at  my  watch.  It  was  two  hours  after  midnight. 
He  got  up  and  we  went  among  the  Grenadiers. 
Deep  silence  reigned  everywhere.  A  good 
many  had  sat  down  on  their  knapsacks  and 
fallen  asleep  there.  We  sat  down  ourselves  a 
few  steps  away,  on  the  parapet,  and  he  con- 
tinued his  story  after  having  relighted  his 
cigar  at  the  pipe  of  a  soldier.  Not  a  house 
showed  a  jsign  of  life. 

The  moment  I  arrived  in  Paris,  I  wanted 
to  see  the  Emperor.  I  had  the  opportunity  at 
a  play  at  Court,  to  which  one  of  my  old  com- 
rades, become  a  colonel,  took  me.  It  was 
down  there,  at  the  Tuileries.  We  sat  down 
in  a  small  box,  opposite  the  Imperial  box, 
and  we  waited.  Only  the  Kings  were  in  the 
hall  as  yet.  Each  of  these,  in  a  first  tier  box, 
[277] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

had  his  court  around  him,  and  before  him  in  the 
galleries  were  his  aides-de-camp  and  his  gen- 
erals. The  Kings  of  Westphalia,  Saxony 
and  Wurtemburg,  all  the  princes  of  the  Rhine 
Federation  were  placed  in  the  same  row. 
Murat,  King  of  Naples,  shaking  his  black  hair 
curled  like  a  mane  and  casting  leonine  glances, 
stood  near  them,  talking  loud  and  fast.  Higher 
up  was  the  King  of  Spain,  and  alone,  shoved 
aside,  the  Russian  Ambassador,  Prince  Kour- 
akim,  with  diamond  epaulettes.  In  the  pit  the 
crowds  of  generals,  dukes,  princes,  colonels  and 
senators.  Everywhere  above,  the  bare  arms 
and  shoulders  of  the  ladies  of  the  Court. 

The  box  surmounted  with  the  eagle  was  still 
empty.  We  never  took  our  eyes  off  it.  After 
a  little  while  the  Kings  rose  and  remained 
standing.  The  Emperor  entered  the  box  alone, 
walking  rapidly,  threw  himself  quickly  into  his 
chair  and  gazed  in  front  of  him.  Then  he  re- 
membered that  the  entire  hall  was  on  its  feet 
and  awaiting  a  glance.  He  bobbed  his  head 
twice,  brusquely  and  with  bad  grace,  turned 
quickly  and  allowed  the  Queens  and  Kings  to 
sit  down.  His  chamberlains,  dressed  in  red, 
stood  up  behind  him.  Occasionally  he  talked 
to  them  without  looking  at  them,  holding  out 
[278] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


his  hand  to  receive  a  gold  box,  which  one  of 
them  handed  him  and  took  back  again.  Cres- 
centini  sang  JLes  Horaces,  with  the  voice  of 
a  seraph  coming  out  of  a  hectic,  wrinkled  face. 
The  orchestra  was  soft  and  weak,  by  order  of 
the  Emperor.  He  wanted,  perhaps,  like  the 
Lacedemonians  to  be  soothed  rather  than  ex- 
cited by  the  music.  He  ogled  in  front  of  him, 
and  very  often  in  my  direction.  I  recognised 
his  large  greyish-green  eyes,  but  I  did  not 
like  the  yellow  fat  which  had  swallowed  up  his 
severe  features.  He  put  his  left  hand  over  his 
left  eye  to  see  better,  as  was  his  wont.  I  felt 
he  had  recognised  me.  He  jerked  around, 
looked  at  nothing  save  the  stage,  and  soon  went 
out.  He  walked  rapidly  through  the  cor- 
ridor, and  his  fat  legs  bulging  in  white  silk 
stockings,  his  puffy  figure  in  the  green  coat, 
almost  made  him  unrecognisable  to  me.  He 
stopped  short  in  front  of  me,  and  speaking  to 
the  colonel  who  presented  me,  instead  of  ad- 
dressing his  words  to  me   direct: 

— "Why  have  I  not  seen  him  anywhere? 
— Still  a  lieutenant?" 

— "He  has  been  a  prisoner  since  1804," 

— "Why  did  he  not  escape?" 

— "I  was  on  parole,"  I  murmured. 
[279] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

— "I  don't  like  prisoners,"  he  said.  "  'Twere 
better  to  be  killed."  He  turned  his  back  on 
me.  We  remained  without  stirring,  lined  up. 
And  when  all  his  suite  had  filed  past : 

— ''Mon  cher/''  the  colonel  said  to  me,  "you 
can  see  readily  that  you  were  an  imbecile.  You 
have  lost  your  promotion  and  you  are  not 
liked  any  the  better  for  it." 


[280] 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  EUSSIAN   GUARD 

"Is  it  possible?"  I  said,  stamping  my  foot. 
When  I  hear  such  stories  I  applaud  the  fact 
that  the  officer  in  me  has  been  dead  these  sev- 
eral years.  There  remains  only  the  solitary 
and  independent  scribe  who  considers  what 
is  to  become  of  his  freedom,  and  who  does 
not  want  to  defend  it  against  his  old  friends. 

And  I  believed  I  saw  in  Captain  Renaud 
traces  of  indignation  at  the  memory  of  what 
he  was  relating  to  me.  But  he  smiled  quietly 
and  with  a  contented  expression. 

He  resumed: 

It  was  all  very  simple.  That  colonel  was 
the  finest  chap  in  the  world.  But  there  are 
men  who  are,  to  use  the  celebrated  phrase, 
braggarts  of  crimes  and  of  hardheartedness. 
He  wanted  to  maltreat  me  because  the  Em- 
peror had  set  the  example;  gross  flattery  of 
the  Guard  Corps. 

[281] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

But  how  fortunate  it  was  for  me.  From 
that  day  on,  I  began  to  esteem  myself  in- 
wardly, to  have  confidence  in  myself,  to  make 
my  character  become  purer,  form  itself,  round 
itself  out,  become  firmer.  From  that  day  on 
I  realised  clearly  that  events  go  for  naught, 
that  the  inward  man  is  everything.  I  placed 
myself  well  above  my  judges.  Finally  my  con- 
sciousness began  to  make  itself  felt.  I  resolved 
to  lean  on  it  alone,  and  to  regard  public  judg- 
ments, glittering  rewards,  rapid  fortunes,  rep- 
utations of  the  bulletin,  like  so  many  ridic- 
ulous boastings,  like  a  game  of  chance  with 
which  it  was  not  worth  busying  oneself. 

Very  soon  I  plunged  into  the  war,  amid  un- 
known ranks  of  the  infantry  of  the  line,  the 
infantry  of  battle,  in  which  the  peasants  of  the 
army  were  mowed  down  by  the  thousand  at  a 
time,  similar  to,  equal  to,  the  wheat  of  a  fat 
field  of  the  Beauce.  There  I  hid  myself 
like  a  friar  in  his  cell.  And  down  in  this  mob 
of  the  Army  marching  on  foot  like  the  privates, 
carrying  a  knapsack  and  eating  their  bread, 
I  went  through  the  great  wars  of  the  Empire 
as  long  as  the  Empire  stood. 

Ah!  If  you  knew  how  comfortable  I  felt 
amidst  these  unheard  of  hardships!  How  I 
[282] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


loved  this  obscurity  and  what  savage  joys  the 
great  battles  gave  me!  The  beauty  of  war 
lies  among  the  privates,  in  camp  life,  in  the 
mud  of  the  marching  and  the  camping.  I 
avenged  myself  on  Bonaparte  in  serving  my 
country,  owing  nothing  to  Xapoleon.  And 
when  he  passed  before  my  regiment,  I  hid 
myself  lest  he  show  me  favours.  Experience 
had  made  me  measure  dignities  and  power  at 
their  true  value.  I  no  longer  aspired  to  a  thing 
except  to  take  from  each  victory  of  our  arms 
that  portion  of  pride  which  would  be  my  due 
according  to  my  own  feeling.  I  wanted  to  be 
a  citizen  where  it  was  still  permitted  to  be  one, 
and  that  in  my  own  way.  At  one  time  my 
services  remained  unnoticed,  at  another  they 
were  raised  above  their  merit,  and  I  never 
stopped  keeping  them  dark,  with  all  my  power, 
fearing  above  all  that  my  name  would  be  too 
loudly  mentioned.  The  crowd  was  so  big,  that 
obscurity  came  easy,  and  in  1814  I  still  was 
only  a  lieutenant  in  the  Imperial  Guard,  when 
I  received  this  wound  you  see  on  my  forehead, 
and  which  causes  me  more  trouble  to-night 
than  ordinarily. 

At  this  Captain  Renaud  passed  his  hand 

[283] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

over  his  forehead  and  as  it  appeared  that  he 
wanted  to  keep  silent  I  pressed  him  to  go  on, 
with  enough  insistence  to  make  him  give  in. 
He  leaned  his  head  on  the  knob  of  his  ma- 
lacca  cane  and  continued : 

Here  is  a  singular  thing:  I  have  never 
told  all  this,  and  this  evening  I  like  to  tell 
it.  Bah!  No  matter!  I  like  to  let  my- 
self go  with  an  old  comrade.  For  you 
it  will  be  the  subject  for  serious  reflection 
when  you  have  nothing  better  to  do.  It  is  not 
unworthy  of  that,  it  seems  to  me.  You  will 
think  me  very  weak  or  very  mad;  but  it's  all 
the  same.  Until  the  happening  I  am  going  to 
tell  you  about  and  of  which  I  put  off  the  tell- 
ing in  spite  of  myself,  because  it  pains  me — 
though  it  is  a  common  enough  happening  to 
others — ^my  love  of  the  glory  of  arms  had  be- 
come wise,  grave  and  utterly  pure,  as  should 
be  the  simple  and  single  sense  of  duty.  But 
from  that  day  on,  other  thoughts  again  came 
to  cast  a  shadow  on  my  life. 

It  was  in  1814.    It  was  the  beginning  of  the 

year  and  the  end  of  that  dark  war  in  which 

our  poor  army  defended  the  Empire  and  the 

Emperor,  and  in  which  France  looked  upon 

[284] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


the  battle  in  dismay.  Soissons  had  just  sur- 
rendered to  the  Prussian  Biilow.  The  armies 
of  Silesia  and  of  the  North  had  effected  their 
junction  there.  Macdonald  had  left  Troyes 
and  abandoned  the  basin  of  the  Yonne  to  es- 
tablish his  line  of  defence  from  ISTogent  to 
Monterreau  with  thirty  thousand  men. 

We  were  to  attack  Rheims,  which  the  Em- 
peror wanted  to  retake.  The  weather  was  dark 
and  it  rained  continuously.  The  day  before  we 
had  lost  a  superior  officer  who  was  convoying 
the  prisoners.  The  Russians  had  surprised  and 
killed  him  the  preceding  night,  and  set  their 
comrades  free.  Our  colonel,  who  was  what  they 
call  a  dur  a  cuire,  wanted  to  get  even.  We 
were  near  Epernay  and  we  turned  the  heights 
surrounding  it.  Night  fell  and,  after  spending 
the  whole  day  getting  ourselves  together,  we 
passed  by  a  fine  white  chateau  with  towers, 
called  Boursault,  when  the  colonel  called  me. 
He  took  me  aside,  while  the  guns  were  being 
stacked,  and  said  in  his  old,  hoarse  voice: 

— "You  see  a  barn  up  there,  don't  you,  on 
that  steep  hill  yonder,  where  that  big  loafer  of 
a  Russian  sentry  is  strutting,  with  his  bishop's 

hat?" 

[285] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

— "Yes,  yes,"  I  answered,  *'I  can  see  the 
grenadier  and  the  barn  perfectly." 

— "Well,  you  are  an  old  hand,  you  ought  to 
know  that  yonder  is  the  point  the  Russians 
took  day  before  yesterday,  and  which  bothers 
the  Emperor  most  this  particular  quarter  of 
an  hour.  He  has  told  me  it  is  the  key  to 
Rheims  and  perhaps  it  is.  At  any  rate  we 
are  going  to  play  a  trick  on  Woronzoff.  At 
eleven  to-night  you'll  take  two  hundred  of 
your  *boys,'  and  you  will  surprise  the  watch 
set  in  that  barn.  But,  lest  an  alarm  is  raised, 
you  will  put  that  through  with  the  baj^onet." 

He  took,  and  offered  me,  a  pinch  of  snuff, 
and  throwing  the  rest  away,  little  by  little,  the 
way  I  am  doing  here,  he  said  to  me,  pronounc- 
ing a  word  to  each  grain  of  snuff  thrown  to  the 
winds : 

— "You  understand  all  right  that  I  will  be 
there,  back  of  you,  with  my  column.  You'll 
hardly  have  lost  sixty  men;  you  will  have  the 
six  guns  they  have  placed  there.  .  .  .  You 
will  turn  them  upon  Rheims.  ...  At  eleven 
.  .  .  half-past  eleven  .  .  .  the  position  will  be 
ours.  And  we  will  sleep  till  three  ...  to  rest 
a  little  •  .  .  from  that  little  affair  at  Craonne 
.  .  .  which  had  no  flies  on  it  .  .  .  as  they  say." 
[286] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


— ''Very  well,"  I  told  him.  And  I  went 
with  my  second  in  command,  to  make  some 
little  preparation  for  our  evening's  party.  The 
essential  thing,  as  you  see,  was  to  make  no 
noise.  I  made  an  inspection  of  the  rifles  and 
had  the  cartridges  taken  out  of  all  the  loaded 
ones,  with  the  wad-hook.  Next  I  walked 
around  with  my  sergeants  a  bit,  while  waiting 
for  the  hour. 

At  ten-thirty  I  made  them  put  their  over- 
coats over  their  uniforms  and  hide  their  rifles 
under  the  coats;  for  whatever  you  do,  as  you 
may  notice  to-night,  the  bayonet  always  shows. 
And  though  it  was  dark  as  it  is  now,  I  did  not 
trust  to  it.  I  had  noticed  the  narrow  lanes, 
bordered  with  hedges,  that  led  to  the  Russian 
sentry-post,  and  up  them  I  sent  the  most  de- 
termined gang  of  rascals  I  have  ever  com- 
manded. Two  of  them  are  still  there,  in  the 
ranks.    They  were  there  and  remember  it  well. 

They  knew  the  Russians'  custom  and  how  to 
capture  them.  The  sentries  we  met  going  up 
disappeared  without  noise,  like  reeds  that  are 
bent  to  the  ground  with  the  hands.  The  one 
before  the  rifles  required  more  care.  He  stood 
stock-still,  rifle  at  his  heel,  chin  on  the  muzzle. 
The  poor  devil  rocked  back  and  forth  like  a 
[287] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

man  falling  asleep  from  weariness  and  about 
to  topple  over.  One  of  my  grenadiers  took 
him  in  his  arms,  squeezing  him  till  he  choked, 
and  two  others  gagged  and  dropped  him  in 
the  underbrush.  I  came  on  slowly  and  I  could 
not  help  myself — I  admit  it — against  a  certain 
emotion  I  had  never  felt  at  other  moments  of 
battle.  It  was  the  shame  of  attacking  sleeping 
men.  There  they  were,  rolled  in  their  over- 
coats, under  a  dark  lantern.  My  heart  beat 
violently.  But  suddenly,  on  the  instant  of 
action,  I  feared  this  was  only  a  weakness;  one 
that  resembled  cowardice.  I  feared  I  had 
known  fear  this  once ! 

And  so,  taking  my  sword  from  under  my 
arm,  I  went  in  first,  brusquely,  setting  the  ex- 
ample to  my  grenadiers.  I  flung  them  a  gesture 
they  understood.  They  threw  themselves  first 
upon  the  weapons,  next  upon  the  men,  like 
wolves  on  the  flock.  Oh,  it  was  a  dumb  and 
horrible  butchery!  The  bayonet  pierced,  the 
butt  crushed,  the  knee  smothered,  the  hand 
strangled.  Every  cry  was  silenced  beneath  the 
feet  of  our  soldiers  before  it  was  barely  uttered. 
No  head  lifted  but  received  the  death  blow. 

As  I  went  in  I  had  struck  at  random,  one 
terrific  blow  straight  ahead  of  me,  at  some- 
[288] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


thing  black  which  I  pierced  through  and 
through.  An  old  officer,  a  large  and  strong 
man,  white  hair  bristling  on  his  head,  rose  up 
like  a  phantom.  He  saw  what  I  had  done 
and  uttered  a  horrible  cry,  and  struck  a  violent 
sword  thrust  at  my  face.  The  next  instant  he 
fell  dead  under  the  bayonets. 

I,  too,  went  down  beside  him,  dizzy  with  the 
blow  between  my  eyes.  And  underneath  me 
I  heard  the  dying,  tender  voice  of  a  child,  that 
lisped:    ^Tapa." 

Then  I  understood  the  thing  I  had  done.  I 
contemplated  it  with  frenzied  assiduity.  I 
saw  one  of  those  fourteen  year  old  officers  so 
numerous  in  the  Russian  armies  that  invaded 
us  at  the  time,  and  who  were  trained  in  this 
terrible  school.  His  long  curly  hair  fell  to  his 
breast,  as  blond,  as  silky  as  a  woman's,  and  his 
head  was  bent  as  if  he  only  just  had  fallen 
asleep  again.  His  rosy  lips,  open  like  those  of 
a  new-born  babe,  still  seemed  moist  with  his 
mother's  milk  and  his  feig,  blue,  half -open  eyes 
were  beautifully  shaped,  candid,  caressing, 
feminine.  I  lifted  him  by  one  arm  and  his 
head  fell  on  my  bloody  cheek,  as  if  he  were 
nestling  his  head  between  his  mother's  neck 
and  shoulders,  to  get  warm.  He  seemed  to 
[289] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

huddle  on  my  breast  to  escape  his  murderers. 
The  filial  tenderness,  the  confidence  and  peace- 
fulness  of  sweet  sleep  rested  on  his  dead  face 
and  he  seemed  to  be  saying:  "Let  us  sleep  in 
peace!" 

— "Was  that  an  enemy?"  I  cried  out!  What- 
ever fatherly  feeling  God  has  put  into  the 
bowels  of  any  man  was  touched  and  trembling 
within  me.  I  hugged  the  poor  infant  to  my 
breast.  Then  I  felt  pressing  against  me  the 
hilt  of  my  sword  which  had  transfixed  the 
heart  and  killed  the  sleeping  seraph. 

I  wanted  to  hang  my  head  on  his,  but  my 
blood  smirched  him  with  big  blotches.  I  felt 
the  wound  in  my  head — and  I  remembered  it 
had  been  struck  by  his  father.  Shamefacedly 
I  looked  beside  me  and  I  saw  nothing  but  a 
tangle  of  corpses  my  grenadiers  were  pulling 
by  the  legs  to  throw  outside,  only  taking  their 
cartridges  away  from  them. 

At  that  moment  the  colonel  entered,  fol- 
lowed by  his  column.  I  heard  their  tread  and 
their  weapons. 

— "Bravo!  my  dear  sir,"  he  said  to  me,  "you 
pulled  this  off  quickly.  But  are  you  wounded?" 

—"Look  at  this,"  I  said.    "What  difference 
is  there  between  me  and  a  murderer?" 
[290] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


— "Why,  by  God,  my  dear  fellow,  what  do 
you  expect?    It  is  our  trade!" 

— *'Correct,"  I  answered,  and  rose  to  take 
my  command  again.  The  child  fell  back  in  the 
folds  of  his  mantle  in  which  I  wrapped  him, 
and  his  little  hand,  adorned  with  heavy  rings, 
dropped  a  malacca  cane.  It  fell  into  my 
hand,  as  if  it  were  being  given  to  me.  I  took 
it.  I  resolved  that  henceforth  I  would  carry 
no  other  weapon,  no  matter  what  might  be  my 
danger.  I  did  not  have  the  heart  to  draw  my 
cut-throat  sword  out  of  his  breast. 

Hurriedly  I  left  the  den  that  reeked  with 
blood,  and  when  I  came  outside,  I  found  the 
strength  to  wipe  off  my  red,  wet  forehead. 
My  grenadiers  stood  in  line.  Each  one  was 
coolly  cleaning  off  his  bayonet  on  the  grass, 
and  refastening  the  flintlock  of  his  rifle.  My 
sergeant-major,  followed  by  the  quartermas- 
ter, passed  along  the  ranks,  the  roll  in  his  hand 
and  calling  it  by  the  light  of  a  candle  stuck 
in  the  muzzle  of  his  gun,  like  a  torch.  He 
was  serenely  mustering  the  men.  I  leaned 
against  a  tree,  where  the  surgeon-major  came 
to  bandage  my  forehead.  A  heavy  March 
rain,  falling  on  my  bare  head,  did  me  some 
good.  I  could  not  help  sighing  deeply. 
[291] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

— "I  am  tired  of  war,"  I  said  to  the  surgeon. 

— "So  am  I,"  said  a  grave  voice  which  I 
recognised. 

I  raised  the  bandage  over  my  eyebrows  and 
saw  before  me,  not  Napoleon  the  Emperor, 
but  Bonaparte  the  soldier.  He  was  alone,  on 
foot,  brooding.  He  stood  before  me,  his  boots 
sunk  in  the  mud,  his  coat  torn;  the  rain 
streamed  from  the  rim  of  his  hat.  He  felt  his 
last  days  were  come,  and  looked  about  him  at 
his  last  soldiers. 

He  considered  me  attentively.  — "I  have 
seen  you  somewhere,  grognardf'  he  said. 

By  this  last  word  I  knew  that  he  was  saying 
merely  a  banal  phrase.  I  knew  my  face  had 
aged  more  than  my  years,  and  the  hardship, 
whiskers  and  wound  disguised  me  quite. 

— "I  have  seen  you  everywhere,  without  be- 
ing seen,"  I  answered. 

— "Do  you  want  promotion?" 

—"It  is  pretty  late." 

He  crossed  his  arms  and  did  not  answer  a 
while.    Then: 

— "You  are  right.  Three  more  days,  and 
you  and  I  will  quit  the  service." 

He  turned  his  back  on  me  and  mounted  his 
[292] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


horse  again,  which  had  been  held  a  few  steps 
away.  That  same  moment  the  head  of  our 
column  had  attacked  and  we  were  being  shelled. 
One  shell  fell  in  front  of  our  company.  A 
few  drew  back  upon  a  first  impulse,  and  then 
hesitated,  ashamed.  Bonaparte  alone  went  to- 
wards the  bomb,  that  smoked  and  sputtered 
before  his  horse,  and  made  it  sniff  the  smoke. 
All  remained  silent  and  stock-still.  The 
bomb  burst,  and  hurt  no  one. 

The  grenadiers  realised  the  terrible  lesson 
Napoleon  had  given  them.  I  felt,  besides  that, 
something  that  smacked  of  despair.  France 
was  failing  him,  and  for  a  moment  he  had 
doubted  his  old  heroes.  I  felt  I  was  too  much 
avenged,  and  he  too  much  punished  for  his 
faults  by  so  great  a  desertion.  I  rose  with 
difficulty,  and  stumbling  towards  him  I 
grasped  and  wrung  the  hand  he  held  out  to 
several  among  us.  He  did  not  recognise  me  at 
all,  but  to  me  it  meant  a  tacit  reconciliation 
between  the  most  obscure  and  the  most  illus- 
trious of  the  men  of  our  century. 

The  charge  was  sounded,  and  next  day,  at 
sunrise,  Rheims  was  retaken  by  us.     But  so 
was  Paris  a  few  days  later,  by  others! 
[293] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

Captain  Renaud  remained  silent  a  long 
time  after  this  tale  and  hung  his  head.  I  did 
not  want  to  interrupt  his  musing.  I  regarded 
this  fine  man  with  veneration,  and  while  he 
spoke  I  had  followed  attentively  the  slow  trans- 
formations in  this  good  and  simple  soul,  always 
repressed  within  its  self-immolation,  always 
crushed  by  an  invincible  power,  but  winning 
through  to  find  rest  in  humblest  and  most 
austere  duty. 

His  obscure  existence  appeared  to  me  as 
beautiful  inwardly  as  the  brilliant  life  of  any 
man  of  action  whosoever. 

Each  wave  of  the  sea  adds  a  film  of  white  to 
the  beauties  of  a  pearl;  each  billow  labours 
slowly  to  make  it  more  perfect;  each  puff  of 
foam  that  floats  upon  it,  leaves  it  a  mysterious 
hue,  half  golden,  half  translucent,  through 
which  the  inward  ray  that  emanates  from  its 
heart  may  be  only  divined. 

Quite  in  the  same  manner  this  man's  char- 
acter had  been  formed  in  vast  upheavals,  in 
the  depths  of  darkest  and  perpetual  trials.  I 
knew  that  as  long  as  the  Emperor  lived  he  had 
considered  it  a  duty  never  to  serve  in  the 
Army,  respecting  what  he  called  common 
decencj'-,  despite  all  the  entreaties  of  his  friends. 
[294] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


And  afterwards,  freed  by  Napoleon's  death 
from  the  bond  of  his  old  promise  to  a  master 
who  knew  him  no  more,  he  had  returned  to 
command,  in  the  Royal  Guards,  the  remnants 
of  his  Old  Guard. 

As  he  never  spoke  about  himself,  no  one 
had  ever  thought  of  him  and  he  had  had  no 
promotion.  He  worried  little  about  that. 
It  was  his  custom  to  say  that  unless  one  is  a 
general  at  twenty-five,  the  age  when  one's 
imagination  can  be  given  scope,  it  were  better 
to  remain  a  simple  captain  to  live  with  the 
soldiers  as  a  family  father,  as  a  prior  of  a 
monastery. 

"Look,"  he  said  to  me  after  this  spell  of 
rest,  "watch  our  old  grenadier  Poirier,  with 
his  sombre,  squinting  eyes,  his  bald  head  and 
the  sword  slashes  on  his  cheek.  The  Mar- 
shals of  France  used  to  stop  and  admire  him 
when  he  presented  arms  for  them  at  the  King's 
door.  Look  at  Beccaria  with  his  profile  of  a 
Roman  veteran,  at  Frechou  with  his  white 
whiskers,  at  that  whole  first  row,  all  deco- 
rated, with  three  chevrons  on  their  sleeves! 
What  would  they  have  said,  those  old  friars  of 
the  ancient  Army,  if  I  had  failed  them  this 
morning,  I  who  still  commanded  them  a  fort- 
[295] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

night  ago?  It  would  have  been  different  if 
I  had  taken  on  fireside  habits  of  ease  or  an- 
other profession  several  years  ago. 

"Why,  look  how  still  everything  is  in  Paris 
to-night,  still  as  the  air,"  he  added,  rising  with 
me.  *'Here  is  day  breaking.  No  doubt  they 
will  begin  smashing  street  lamps  again,  and 
to-morrow  we'll  go  back  to  quarters.  Probably 
in  a  few  days  I  shall  retire,  to  a  little  corner 
of  land  I  own  somewhere  in  France  where 
there  is  a  little  tower  in  which  I  will  finish  up 
my  studies  on  Polybius,  Turenne,  Folard  and 
Vauban,  to  amuse  myself.  Nearly  all  my  com- 
rades were  killed  in  the  Great  Army,  or  have 
died  since.  It  has  been  a  long  time  since  I 
have  talked  with  anybody,  and  you  know  by 
what  road  I  have  come  to  hate  war,  while 
waging  it  energetically  all  the  time." 

Thereupon  he  wrung  my  hand  heartily  while 
again  asking  me  for  the  gorget  he  needed,  if 
mine  were  not  rusted  and  if  I  could  find  it  at 
my  home.    Then  he  called  me  back  and  said: 

"Look  here,  as  it  is  not  altogether  impossible 

they  will  again  fire  on  us  from  some  window,  I 

beg  of  you  to  keep  for  me  this  portfolio  full 

of  old  letters.    They  interest  me,  me  alone,  and 

[296] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


you  will  burn  them  if  we  do  not  see  each  other 
again. 

"Several  of  our  old  comrades  have  hap- 
pened along  and  we  have  begged  them  to  re- 
turn to  their  homes.  We  are  not  fighting  a 
Civil  War.  We  are  as  serene  as  firemen  whose 
duty  it  is  to  put  out  a  fire.  Explanations  will 
follow;  that  does  not  concern  us." 

And  he  left  me,  smiling. 


t297] 


CHAPTER  IX 
A   MARBLE 

Two  weeks  after  this  conversation,  which 
the  Revolution  itself  had  not  made  me  forget, 
I  was  thinking  alone  about  his  modest  hero- 
ism and  disinterestedness,  both  so  rare!  I 
tried  to  forget  the  pure  blood  that  had  been 
shed,  and  I  reread  in  the  history  of  America 
how,  in  1783,  the  victorious  Anglo-American 
Army,  after  having  delivered  the  country  and 
laid  down  arms,  was  on  the  point  of  revolt- 
ing against  Congress  which,  too  poor  to  pay  it, 
was  getting  ready  to  disband  it.  Washington, 
generalissimo  and  conqueror,  had  but  to  say  a 
word  or  nod  his  head  to  be  Dictator.  He  did 
what  only  he  had  the  power  to  accomplish :  he 
disbanded  the  Army  and  gave  in  his  resigna- 
tion. 

I  had  laid  down  the  book  and  I  compared 
this  serene  greatness  to  our  restless  ambition.  I 
was  sad  and  recalled  all  the  warlike,  ptire 
[298] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


spirits,  without  false  brilliance,  without  char- 
latanism, who  have  loved  power  and  command 
only  for  the  public  weal,  who  have  guarded 
it  without  pride  and  have  neither  turned  it 
against  the  country  nor  converted  it  into  gold. 
I  thought  of  all  the  men  who  have  waged  war 
with  the  intelligence  of  its  worth.  I  thought 
of  CoUingwood  and  his  resignation,  and  finally 
of  that  obscure  Captain  Renaud,  when  I  saw 
coming  in  a  tall  man  dressed  in  a  long  blue 
cape  which  was  in  pretty  bad  condition.  By 
his  white  moustache  and  the  scars  on  his 
bronzed  face,  I  recognised  one  of  the  grena- 
diers of  his  company.  I  asked  him  if  the  Cap- 
tain was  still  alive,  and  the  emotion  of  this 
good  fellow  showed  me  something  wrong  had 
happened.  The  grenadier  sat  down,  wiped  his 
forehead,  and  after  a  little  fussing  and  a  little 
time,  he  told  me  what  had  happened  to  the 
Captain. 

During  the  two  days  of  July  28th  and  29th, 
Captain  Renaud  had  not  done  a  thing  but 
march  in  column  along  the  streets  at  the  head 
of  his  grenadiers.  He  would  place  himself  in 
front  of  the  first  section  of  his  column,  and 
walk  on  peaceably  amid  a  hail  of  stones  and 
rifle  shots  that  came  from  cafes,  balconies  and 
[299] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

windows.  If  he  stopped,  it  was  to  close  up  the 
ranks  opened  by  those  that  had  fallen,  and  to 
look  if  his  left  guides  were  keeping  their  dis- 
tances and  abreast  their  files.  He  had  not 
drawn  his  sword,  and  marched,  cane  in  hand. 
At  first  his  orders  had  come  to  him  promptly. 
But,  either  because  the  aides-de-camp  were 
killed  on  their  way,  or  because  the  general  staff 
did  not  send  them,  he  was  left,  during  the  night 
of  the  28th  to  the  29th,  on  the  Place  de  la  Bas- 
tille, without  other  instructions  than  to  fall 
back  upon  Saint-Cloud  and  destroy  the  barri- 
cades on  his  way.  This  he  did  without  firing 
a  shot. 

Arrived  at  the  Jena  Bridge  he  stopped  to 
call  the  roll  of  his  company.  Fewer  men  were 
missing  wdth  his  than  with  all  the  other  com- 
panies of  the  Guard  that  had  been  detached. 
And  his  men  also  were  less  tired.  He  had 
known  the  trick  of  letting  them  rest  to  good 
purpose  in  the  shade  during  those  sizzling  days, 
and  of  finding  for  them  in  the  abandoned  bar- 
racks the  food  which  the  hostile  houses  refused 
them.  The  aspect  of  his  column  was  such  that 
he  had  found  each  barricade  deserted,  and  had 
only  to  take  the  trouble  to  demolish  it. 

There  he  was  standing  on  the  Jena  Bridge 
[300] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


covered  with  dust,  stamping  his  feet.  He  was 
looking  towards  the  barrier  to  see  if  anything 
might  trouble  the  passing  of  his  detachment 
and  told  off  the  scouts  to  send  ahead.  There 
wasn't  a  soul  in  the  Champ-de-Mars  except 
two  masons  who  seemed  asleep,  lying  on  their 
bellies,  and  a  little  boy  of  about  fourteen  who 
ran  barefoot  and  played  castanets  with  two 
bits  of  broken  pottery.  He  rattled  them  from 
time  to  time  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge.  In 
this  way  he  came  playing  up  to  the  stone  on 
which  Renaud  stood.  The  Captain  at  this 
moment  was  pointing  out  the  heights  of  Passy 
with  his  cane.  The  child  came  close  to  him, 
looking  at  him  with  big,  startled  eyes,  and 
pulling  a  horse  pistol  from  his  blouse,  he  took 
it  in  both  hands  and  pointed  it  at  the  Captain's 
breast.  Renaud  deflected  the  pistol  with  his 
cane  but  the  child  had  fired  and  the  bullet  hit 
up  in  the  thigh.  The  Captain  fell  to  a  sitting 
posture  without  saying  a  word  and  regarded 
this  singular  enemy  with  pity.  He  saw  this 
young  boy  holding  his  weapon  with  both  hands 
all  the  time,  utterly  frightened  by  what  he 
had  done.  The  grenadiers  at  the  moment  were 
leaning  gloomily  on  their  rifles.  They  dis- 
dained lifting  a  hand  against  this  queer  little 
[301] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

one.  Some  of  them  lifted  their  Captain,  others 
just  took  the  child  by  the  arm  and  led  him  for- 
ward to  the  man  he  had  wounded. 

The  boy  burst  out  in  tears,  and  when  he  saw 
the  blood  streaming  from  the  Captain's  wound 
over  his  white  trousers,  he  was  so  scared  of 
the  butchery  that  he  fainted.  The  man  and 
the  boy  were  taken  to  a  little  house  near  Passy, 
at  the  same  time.    They  both  were  there  still. 

The  column,  led  by  the  lieutenant,  had  con- 
tinued on  its  way  to  Saint- Cloud,  and  four 
grenadiers,  after  having  doffed  their  uniforms, 
had  remained  in  this  little  hospitable  house  to 
nurse  their  old  commander. 

One  of  them  (the  one  who  was  talking  to 
me)  had  obtained  work  as  a  gunsmith's  helper 
in  Paris,  the  others  as  fencing  masters.  Bring- 
ing their  day's  wages  to  the  Captain,  they  had 
kept  him  from  lacking  care  till  that  day.  His 
leg  had  been  amputated.  But  the  fever  had 
been  high  and  bad,  and  fearing  dangerous 
complications,  he  had  sent  for  me. 

There  was  no  time  to  lose.  I  went  im- 
mediately with  the  worthy  soldier  who  had  told 
me  these  details  with  moist  eyes  and  trembling 
voice,  but  without  a  murmur  of  injury  or  ac- 
[302] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


cusation.  He  only  repeated:  "It  is  a  great 
misfortune  for  us." 

The  wounded  man  had  been  carried  into  a 
small  shopkeeper's.  She  was  a  widow  living 
alone  in  her  little  shop  in  a  side-street  of  the 
village  of  Passy,  with  some  young  children. 
She  had  not  been  afraid  of  compromising  her- 
self a  single  moment,  a:  J  no  one  had  thought 
of  bothering  her  on  the  subject.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  neighbours  had  offered  their  aid  in 
caring  for  the  wounded  man.  The  doctors 
who  had  been  called  in  had  not  deemed  him 
fit  to  be  moved  after  the  operation.  So  she 
had  kept  him  and  spent  several  nights  by  his 
bedside. 

When  I  came  in,  she  went  ahead  of  me 
with  an  air  of  gratitude  and  shyness  that 
pained  me.  I  felt  how  much  embarrassment 
she  had  hidden  out  of  natural  goodness  and 
benevolence.  She  was  very  pale,  and  her  eyes 
were  red  and  tired.  She  went  back  and  forth 
to  a  tiny  rear  shop  which  I  noticed  from  the 
door,  and  I  saw,  by  the  way  she  hurried,  that 
she  was  setting  the  little  sick-chamber  to  rights 
with  a  sort  of  coquettishness,  in  order  that  I, 
the  stranger,  might  find  it  fitting.  There- 
[303] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

fore  I  took  pains  to  go  in  very  slowly,  giving 
her  all  the  time  she  needed. 

"You  see,  sir,  he  has  suffered  a  great 
deal!"  she  said  opening  the  door  to  me. 

Captain  Renaud  was  sitting  up  in  a  little 
bed  with  serge  curtains  set  in  a  corner  of  the 
room.  Several  bolsters  propped  up  his  body. 
He  was  thin  as  a  rail  and  on  his  cheekbones 
were  two  fiery  red  spots.  The  wound  on  his 
forehead  was  black.  I  saw  he  did  not  have 
long  to  live.    His  smile,  too,  told  me  so. 

He  gave  me  his  hand  and  motioned  me  to 
sit  down.  At  his  right  a  young  boy  was  hold- 
ing a  glass  of  sweetened  water  which  he  stirred 
with  a  spoon.  He  rose  and  gave  me  his  chair. 
Renaud,  from  his  ted,  took  him  by  the  tip  of 
the  ear,  and  told  me  softly  in  a  weakened 
voice : 

"Look,  mon  cher,  let  me  introduce  my  con- 
queror!" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  the  poor  child 
lowered  his  eyes  and  reddened.  I  saw  a  big 
tear  rolling  down  his  cheek. 

"Come!    Come!"  the  Captain  said,  passing 

his  hand  over  the  boy's  hair,  "it  is  not  his  fault. 

Poor  boy!     He  had  met  two  men  who  had 

given  him  brandy  to  drink  and  paid  him,  and 

[304] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


sent  him  to  fire  the  pistol  at  me.  He  did  it 
just  as  he  might  have  thrown  a  marble  at 
the  milestone  I  stood  on.    Did  you  not,  Jean?" 

And  Jean  began  to  tremble  and  took  on  an 
expression  of  such  heartbreaking  grief  that  I 
was  touched.  I  looked  at  him  more  closely; 
he  was  a  very  handsome  lad. 

"It  was  a  marble  all  right  enough,  too," 
said  the  young  shopkeeper.  "Look,  sir!"  And 
she  showed  me  an  agate  marble,  as  big  as 
the  heaviest  lead  bullet,  and  with  which  they 
had  loaded  the  large  calibre  pistol  that  lay 
there. 

"No  more  that  that  is  necessary  to  cut 
down  a  Captain's  leg,"  joked  Renaud. 

"You  must  not  let  him  talk  much,"  tim- 
idly ventured  the  young  tradeswoman. 

Renaud  did  not  hear  her: 

"Yes,  mon  cJier,  I  have  not  enough  leg  left 
to  make  a  wooden  leg  stick  to  it." 

I  pressed  his  hand  without  answering.  It 
was  humiliating  to  see  that,  to  kill  a  man  who 
had  seen  and  suffered  so  much,  whose  breast 
was  bronzed  by  twenty  campaigns  and  ten 
wounds,  immune  to  ice  and  fire,  passed  by  of 
bayonet  and  lance,  the  mere  jumping  up  of 
[305] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

one  of  these  frogs  from  the  gutters  of  Paris, 
that  are  called  gamins^  had  sufficed. 

Renaud  answered  my  thought.  He  leaned 
his  cheek  on  the  bolster,  and  taking  my  hand 
said: 

"We  are  at  war!  He  is  no  more  a  mur- 
derer than  I  myself  was  at  Rheims.  When 
I  killed  the  Russian  lad,  perhaps  I,  too,  was 
a  murderer?  In  the  great  Spanish  War, 
the  men  that  knifed  our  sentries  did  not  be- 
lieve they  were  assassins,  and  being  at  war, 
they  probably  were  not.  The  Catholics  and  the 
Huguenots  murdered  each  other,  or  did  they 
not?  Of  how  many  murders  consists  a  big 
battle?  That  is  one  of  those  questions  where 
our  reason  fails  and  knows  not  what  to  say. 
It  is  war  that  is  wrong,  not  we.  I  assure  you 
that  this  little  fellow  is  very  nice  and  very 
gentle.  He  reads  and  writes  very  well  already. 
He  is  a  foundling.  He  was  a  cabinet-mak- 
er's apprentice.  He  has  not  left  my  room 
these  two  weeks,  and  he  loves  me  very  much, 
poor  lad.  He  shows  aptness  for  figures. 
Something  can  be  made  of  him." 

As  he  spoke  with  greater  difficulty  and  came 
close  to  my  ear,  I  bent  over,  and  he  gave  me 
a  little  piece  of  folded  paper  which  he  asked 
[306] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


me  to  look  through.  I  recognised  a  brief  will, 
in  which  he  left  a  kind  of  poor  little  farm  he 
owned  to  the  woman  that  had  taken  him  in, 
and  after  her,  to  Jean,  whom  she  was  to  bring 
up  upon  condition  that  he  should  never  be  a 
soldier.  He  stipulated  the  sum  to  be  paid  for 
his  substitute  and  gave  his  little  piece  of  land 
to  his  four  old  grenadiers  for  a  shelter.  The 
execution  of  all  this  he  gave  in  charge  to  a 
notary  in  his  district. 

When  I  had  the  paper  in  my  hands  he 
seemed  calmer  and  ready  for  a  rest.  Then  he 
shivered,  and  reopening  his  eyes  he  begged  me 
to  take  and  keep  his  malacca  cane.  After 
this  he  dozed  off  again.  His  old  grenadier 
shook  his  head  and  took  his  hand.  I  took  the 
other,  and  felt  it  was  icy.  He  said  his  feet 
were  cold,  and  Jean  lay  down  and  leaned  his 
young  body  on  the  bed  to  warm  him. 

Captain  Renaud  began  plucking  the  blan- 
kets with  his  hands,  saying  he  could  not  feel 
them  any  more,  which  is  a  fatal  sign.  His 
voice  was  hollow.  With  difficulty  he  lifted 
one  hand  to  his  forehead,  looked  at  Jean  at- 
tentively and  said  again: 

"It  is  singular!  This  lad  here  resembles 
the  Russian  child!"  Then  he  shut  his  eyes, 
[307] 


y^ 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

and  pressing  my  hand  with  recurring  presence 
of  mind: 

*'You  see,  it  is  the  brain  that  is  touched 
now.    It's  the  end." 

His  look  was  different  and  calmer.  We 
understood  this  struggle  of  a  strong  spirit 
which  judged  itself  against  the  pain  that  made 
it  stray.  And  this  spectacle  on  this  miserable 
truckle-bed  seemed  full  of  solemn  majesty. 
He  reddened  again  and  spoke  very  loud: 

*'They  were  fourteen  years  old  .  .  .  both 
of  them.  .  .  .  Who  knows  but  it  is  this  young 
spirit  returned  in  the  other's  young  body  to 
avenge  himself?  .  .  ." 

Again  he  shivered.  He  grew  pale  and 
looked  at  me  peacefully,  tenderly: 

"Tell  me!  .  .  .  Could  you  shut  my  mouth? 
I  am  afraid  to  talk  ...  it  weakens  ...  I 
don't  want  to  talk  any  more ...  I  am  thirsty." 

They  gave  him  a  few  spoonfuls  of  water, 
and  he  said: 

"I  have  done  my  duty.  That  thought 
does  good.  ..." 

And  he  added: 

"If  the  country  is  better  for  all  that  has 
been  done,  we  have  nothing  to  say.  But  you 
will  see.  ..." 

[308] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


Thereupon  he  dozed  off  and  slept  for  about 
half  an  hour.  After  that,  a  woman  came  to 
the  door  timidly  and  motioned  that  the  surgeon 
had  come.  I  left  on  tip-toe  to  speak  with  him 
and  as  I  went  into  the  little  garden  with  him, 
and  stopped  beside  a  well  to  question  him,  we 
heard  a  loud  cry.  We  ran  in  only  to  draw 
the  sheet  over  the  head  of  this  honest  man, 
who  was  no  more. 


[809] 


/ 


CHAPTER  X 

CONCLUSION 

The  period  which  left  me  these  scant  mem- 
oirs is  finished  at  present.  It  opened  in  1814 
with  the  battle  of  Paris  and  closed  with  the 
three  Journees  de  Paris  in  1830.  Those 
were  the  times,  when,  as  I  have  said,  the  army 
of  the  Empire  came  back  to  die  on  the  breast 
of  the  newly  born  army,  which  to-day  is  well 
on  in  years.  After  having  in  several  ways  ex- 
plained the  nature  and  pitied  the  condition  of 
poets  in  our  society,  I  have  here  wished  to  show 
that  of  the  soldier — that  other  modern  pariah. 

I  wish  that  for  him  this  book  might  be  what 
an  altar  a  la  petite  Forttme  used  to  be  to  the 
Roman  soldier. 

It  has  pleased  me  to  jot  down  these  stories 
because  I  place  above  every  other  devotion  that 
which  seeks  to  pass  unobserved.  The  most 
illustrious  sacrifices  possess  something  that 
tends  to  notoriety  and  which  one  cannot  help 
[310] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


feeling,  in  spite  of  oneself.  Vainly  one  may 
try  to  rid  them  of  this  character,  which  exists 
within  them,  and  forms  their  force  and  their 
support;  it  is  the  bone  of  their  flesh,  the  mar- 
row of  their  bones.  There  must  have  been 
something  in  the  struggle  and  in  the  very  spec- 
tacle that  fortified  the  martyrs;  the  role  in 
such  a  drama  was  so  great  that  it  might  easily 
uphold  its  holy  victim.  Two  ideas  maintained 
his  arms  on  either  side — the  canonisation  here 
below  and  the  beatification  in  heaven.  May 
these  antique  immolations  to  a  holy  conviction 
remain  revered  for  all  time;  but  on  the  other 
hand  do  not  those  obscure  devotions  which  do 
not  seek  even  to  be  known  by  those  whom  they 
serve,  also  merit  our  esteem;  those  modest, 
silent,  deep,  abandoned  sacrifices  which  have  no 
hope  of  being  crowned,  either  by  God  or  man? 
Those  mute  resignations  whose  examples,  more 
frequent  than  we  realise,  possess  so  powerful 
a  merit,  that  I  know  of  no  virtue  which  may 
be  compared  to  them? 

It  is  not  without  intention  that  I  have  tried 
to  turn  the  eyes  of  the  army  towards  that 
passive  sublimity  which  lies  entirely  in  ab- 
negation and  resignation.  It  can,  of  course, 
never  be  compared  to  the  sublimity  of  action, 
[311] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

wherein  energetic  faculties  have  wide  fields  to 
expand;  but  it  will  long  be  the  only  one  to 
which  the  armed  man  can  pretend,  for  he  is 
armed  almost  uselessly  to-day.  The  dazzling 
sublimity  of  conquerors  is  perhaps  now  ex- 
tinguished forever.  Their  past  brilliancy  is 
waning,  I  repeat,  as  little  by  little  the  disdain 
for  war  waxes  stronger  in  our  minds,  as  in  our 
heart  looms  up  the  disgust  for  such  cold- 
blooded cruelties.  Standing  armies  are  bur- 
dens to  their  masters.  Each  sovereign  looks 
sadly  upon  his  army.  This  motionless,  mute 
colossus,  seated  at  his  feet,  annoys  and  wor- 
ries him:  he  does  not  know  what  to  do  with 
it  and  fears  lest  it  turn  against  Jmn.  He  per- 
ceives that  it  is  fairly  devoured  by  its  ardour 
and  cannot  move.  The  need  of  an  impossible 
circulation  never  ceases  to  torment  the  blood 
of  this  big  body ;  that  blood  which  never  flows 
and  which  boils  continually.  From  time  to 
time  the  rumours  of  wars  rise  and  rumble  like 
distant  thunder;  but  these  powerless  clouds 
vanish,  the  hurricanes  are  lost  in  grains  of 
sand,  in  treaties,  in  red-tape!  Fortunately, 
philosophy  has  diminished  war;  mechanical  in- 
ventions will  finish  by  annulling  it  completely. 
But  while  awaiting  for  the  world,  which  is 
[312] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


still  a  child,  to  rid  itself  of  this  atrocious  play- 
thing— while  waiting,  I  say,  that  this  end  be 
slowly  but  inevitably  accomplished — the  sol- 
dier, the  army  man,  must  needs  be  consoled  for 
the  rigour  of  his  condition.  He  feels  that  the 
country  which  loved  him  on  account  of  the 
glories  with  which  he  crowned  her  is  begin- 
ning to  disdain  his  idleness,  or  to  hate  him  on 
account  of  the  civil  wars  in  which  he  is  em- 
ployed to  maltreat  his  mother. 

This  gladiator  who  no  longer  knows  even 
the  applause  of  a  circus  audience,  needs  to 
gain  new  confidence  in  himself,  and  to  be  just 
we  must  needs  pity  him,  because  as  I  have 
said  he  is  blind  and  dumb ;  thrown  where  others 
will,  fighting  to-day  against  a  certain  co- 
carde,  he  asks  himself  if  to-morrow  he  will 
not  wear  that  same  cocarde  on  his  own  hat. 

What  idea  will  support  him  if  not  that  of 
Duty,  and  the  word  of  honour  given ;  and  amid 
the  uncertainties  of  his  road,  and  his  scruples, 
and  his  heavy  remorse,  what  sentiment  is  there 
that  can  buoy  him  up  and  exalt  him  in  the 
days  of  discouragement? 

What  is  there  that  yet  remains  sacred? 

In  the  universal  shipwreck  of  beliefs,  to 
what  debris  can  generous  hands  still  cling? 
[313] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 


Outside  of  the  love  of  daily  comfort  and  lux- 
ury, nothing  seems  to  swim  on  the  surface  of 
the  abyss.  One  would  almost  believe  that  ego- 
ism had  submerged  all/  Even  those  who  seek 
to  save  souls  and  who  courageously  take  the 
]^i lunge,  feel  themselves  about  to  be  swallowed 
up.  To-day  the  leaders  of  political  parties 
take  Catholicism  as  a  password  and  a  flag;  but 
what  faith  have  they  in  these  marvels,  and  how 
do  they  follow  these  laws  in  their  lives  ?  Artists 
place  it  in  the  light,  like  a  precious  medal,  and 
plunge  into  its  dogmas  as  into  a  source  of  epic 
poetry;  but  how  many  among  them  ever 
kneel  in  the  church  which  they  are  decorating? 

Many  philosophers  embrace  and  plead  the 
cause  as  a  generous  lawyer  does  that  of  a  poor 
and  abandoned  client ;  their  writings  and  their 
words  smack  of  its  colours  and  its  forms,  their 
books  are  ornamented  with  its  gothic  gildings, 
their  entire  labours  seem  destined  to  wind  the 
labyrinth  of  their  cunning  arguments  about  the 
Cross ;  but  when  alone  it  is  rare  that  the  Cross 
be  found  near  them. 

Warriors  fight  and  die  almost  without  re- 
membering God.  Our  century  knows  that  this 
is  true,  would  want  it  to  be  otherwise  and  can- 
not! It  looks  upon  itself  with  a  discouraged 
[314] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


eye,  and  none  other  has  better  felt  how  unfor- 
tunate is  an  epoch  which  judges  itself.  Thanks 
to  these  disheartening  signs  certain  foreigners 
believed  that  we  had  fallen  into  a  state  like 
that  of  the  Roman  Empire,  and  serious  men 
asked  themselves  if  our  national  character  was 
not  about  to  disappear  forever.  But  those 
who  know  us  better  have  noted  that  manly  de- 
termination which  still  survives  in  us,  dominat- 
ing that  which  sophisms  have  so  deplorably 
worn  away.  Virile  actions  in  France  have 
lost  nothing  of  their  antique  virtue.  A  prompt 
resolution  governs  sacrifices,  which  are  as  big 
and  as  entire  as  ever.  More  coolly  calculated, 
all  battles  are  waged  with  a  studied  violence. 
The  slightest  thought  now  produces  acts  that 
are  as  noble  as  were  ever  inspired  by  the  most 
fervent  faith.  In  our  midst  beliefs  are  feeble, 
but  man  is  strong.  Each  scourge  finds  a  hun- 
dred Belzunces.  The  youth  of  to-day  cease- 
lessly defy  death,  either  from  duty  or  from 
caprice,  and  with  a  Spartan  smile — a  smile  all 
the  more  grave  since  all  do  not  believe  in  the 
feast  of  the  gods. 

Yes,  I  believe  I  can  see  a  solid  point  on  this 
sombre  sea.     At  first  I  was  uncertain  of  it, 
and  for  a  moment  could  hardly  believe  it.    I 
[315] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

hesitated  to  examine  it  and  turned  my  eyes 
from  it.  Then  finally,  because  this  first  view 
tormented  me,  I  came  back,  in  spite  of  myself, 
to  this  visible,  but  still  uncertain  point.  I  ap- 
proached it,  I  circled  about  it.  I  looked  under 
and  over  it ;  I  put  my  hands  on  it  and  I  f  oimd 
it  strong  enough  to  lean  on  in  times  of  trouble, 
and  I  was  reassured. 

This  is  not  a  new  faith,  a  freshly  invented 
cult,  a  confused  thought;  it  is  a  sentiment 
born  with  us,  independent  of  time,  place  and 
even  religion ;  a  proud  and  inflexible  sentiment, 
an  instinct  of  incomparable  beauty,  which  only 
in  modern  times  has  found  a  worthy  name,  but 
which  already  had  produced  sublime  grandeurs 
in  ancient  days  and  fertilised  them  as  did  those 
wonderful  rivers  which  at  their  source  and  first 
detours  have  not  as  yet  an  appellation.  This 
faith  which  it  seems  to  me  still  remains  and 
reigns  supreme  in  the  army  is  called  Honour. 

I  cannot  see  that  it  has  lessened  or  that  any- 
thing has  altered  it.  It  is  not  an  idol,  but  for 
the  majority  of  the  men  is  a  god,  and  a  god 
before  which  many  a  superior  god  has 
tumbled.  The  fall  of  all  their  temples  has  not 
in  the  least  unsettled  its  statue. 

An  indefinable  vitality  animates  this  strange, 
[316] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


proud  virtue  which  stands  aloft  in  the  midst  of 
our  vices,  and  yet  on  such  good  terms  with 
them  that  she  seems  even  to  profit  their  energy. 
While  all  the  virtues  seem  to  descend  from 
heaven  to  take  us  by  the  hand  and  lift  us  up, 
this  one  alone  appears  to  spring  from  our  inner 
selves  and  tends  to  mount  heavenward.  It 
is  a  splendid  human  virtue  born  of  earth,  with- 
out the  celestial  palm  that  comes  after  death; 
it  is  the  virtue  of  life! 

Just  as  it  is,  this  cult,  interpreted  in  many 
different  manners,  is  always  uncontested.  It 
is  a  manly  religion,  without  symbols,  without 
images,  without  dogma  or  ceremonies,  and 
whose  laws  have  nowhere  been  written,  and  yet 
how  is  it  that  all  men  have  the  sentiment  of 
its  serious  power? 

The  men  of  to-day,  the  men  of  the  times  in 
which  I  write,  are  sceptical  or  ironical  on  all 
other  subjects  save  this  one.  All  become  grave 
when  the  name  is  pronounced.  This  is  not 
theory  but  observation.  At  the  sound  of  the 
word  Honour  man  feels  something  stir  within 
him  which  is  a  very  part  of  his  being,  and  this 
shock  awakens  all  the  forces  of  his  pride  and 
his  primitive  energy.  An  invincible  firmness 
upholds  him  against  all,  and  against  himself 
[317] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

when  he  thinks  of  guarding  the  pure  taber- 
nacle, which  within  his  breast  is  Hke  a  sacred 
heart  wherein  a  god  is  enshrined.  From 
thence  spring  interior  consolations  all  the  more 
beautiful  because  he  is  ignorant  of  their  source 
and  real  reasons ;  sudden  revelations  of  Truth, 
Beauty,  Justice — henceforth  a  shining  light 
ahead  of  him. 

Honour  is  the  conscience,  but  an  exalted 
conscience.  It  is  one's  self-respect  and  the 
beauty  of  one's  life  carried  to  the  purest  height 
and  the  most  ardent  passion.  I  can  see  no  unity 
in  its  principle — and  each  time  some  one  has 
undertaken  to  define  it,  he  has  been  at  a  loss 
for  terms.  But  I  cannot  see  that  a  more  pre- 
cise definition  of  God  has  ever  yet  been  given. 
Does  that  prove  anything  against  an  existence 
which  is  universally  acknowledged? 

Perhaps  the  greatest  of  Honour's  merits  is 
in  being  so  strong,  no  matter  what  its  source! 
Sometimes  it  has  led  men  not  to  wish  to  sur- 
vive an  insult,  and  then  again  it  upholds  him 
with  a  brilliancy  and  a  splendour  which  atones 
and  effaces  the  smudge.  At  other  times  it 
knows  how  to  hide  both  the  injury  and  the  ex- 
piation. Anon  it  invents  great  enterprises, 
magnificent  and  persevering  struggles,  un- 
[318] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


heard  of  sacrifices,  which  are  slowly  accom- 
plished, and  are  more  wonderful  in  their  pa- 
tience and  obscurity  than  the  sudden  bursts  of 
enthusiasm,  or  violent  indignation;  it  inspires 
benevolent  acts  which  evangelistic  charity  will 
never  surpass ;  it  has  marvellous  tolerance,  deli- 
cate bounties,  divine  indulgences,  and  sublime 
pardons.  Always  and  ever  it  maintains  the 
personal  dignity  of  man  in  all  its  beauty.  Hon- 
our is  a  virile  modesty.  The  shame  of  being- 
lacking  in  such  is  for  ourselves.  Is  this  inex- 
plicable thing  then  so  sacred? 

Weigh  then  the  worth  of  that  expression 
which  is  at  the  same  time  universal,  decisive 
and  the  while  so  simple:  To  give  one's  word 
of  Honour! 

The  human  word  then  ceases  to  be  the  ex- 
pression of  ideas  alone;  it  becomes  the  word 
by  experience  the  most  sacred  of  all  words, 
as  if  it  were  born  with  the  first  utterance  the 
tongue  of  man  ever  formulated ;  and  as  if  after 
it  no  other  word  were  worthy  of  being  pro- 
nounced, it  becomes  the  promise  of  man  to 
man,  blessed  by  all  peoples;  it  becomes  the 
oath  itself,  because  you  add  the  word 
"Honour" 

From  thenceforth  each  one  has  his  word; 
[319] 


MILITARY  SERVITUDE  AND  GRANDEUR 

and  clings  to  it  as  to  his  life.  The  gamester 
has  his,  holds  it  sacred  and  keeps  it;  in  the 
disorder  of  passion  it  is  given,  accepted,  and 
profane  though  it  be,  it  is  kept  as  though  holy. 
That  word  is  nevertheless  beautiful,  and  con- 
secrated everywhere.  Is  not  this  principle 
which  one  may  believe  inborn,  to  which  nothing 
but  the  interior  assent  of  all  binds  us,  of  sov- 
ereign beauty  when  exercised  by  a  warrior? 

A  word  which  but  too  often  becomes  a  mere 
vocable  for  political  men,  becomes  a  terrible 
fact  for  the  army  man;  what  the  one  utters 
lightly  or  perfidiously,  the  other  writes  in  the 
dust  with  his  blood,  and  that  is  why  all  honour 
him  above  all  others,  and  why  many  must  drop 
their  eyes  when  in  his  presence. 

Let  us  hope  then  that  the  purest  of  religions 
while  still  in  its  new  phases  will  not  attempt  to 
deny  or  suffocate  that  sentiment  of  honour 
which  watches  within  all  of  us,  like  the  last 
lamp  in  a  devastated  temple. 

Rather,  let  her  take  it  unto  herself  and  unite 
it  with  her  splendours  by  placing  it,  like  an- 
other lamp,  on  the  altar  she  wishes  to  re- 
juvenate. There  indeed  is  a  divine  work  to  be 
accomplished. 

For  myself,  struck  by  this  happy  sign,  I 
[320] 


THE  MALACCA  CANE 


have  not  wished  to,  nor  could  I  accomplish 
anything  save  a  very  humble  and  very  human 
work  wherein  I  have  shown  most  simply  that 
which  I  thought  was  still  alive  within  us.  Let 
us  refrain  from  saying  of  the  antique  god  of 
Honour,  that  it  is  a  false  god,  for  the  stone  of 
his  altar  is  perhaps  that  of  the  Unknown  God. 
The  magic  magnet  of  that  stone  draws  and 
holds  hearts  of  steel — the  hearts  of  the  strong. 
Say,  then,  if  this  is  not  true,  my  brave  com- 
panions, you  to  whom  I  tell  these  stories,  O 
new  Theban  Legion,  you  whose  head  was 
crushed  by  the  stone  of  oath,  say,  then,  all  of 
you,  saints  and  martyrs  of  the  religion  of 
Honour. 

Paris,  August  20th, 
1835. 


[321] 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


i,^;^;^^  LD 


JAN  5    1962 


DEAD 


JAN     6  1966  61 


Jun'C2MF 


REC'D  L,D 


IN   STACKS 


M 


^y^'X^m 


MAY  2  '^  1962 


'N  STACKS 


HiS'S^ 


DCD 


imr 


3  0M^ 


^^^ 


^     REC'D  I 


D 


JAN2  9'B5-iPM 


LD  21A-50m-8,'61 


General  Library 
Universitv  of  California 


i3 


YB  54S5: 

BSKPHOMWHXCHBORRow" 

^         LOAN  DEPT 

^^IS  BOOK  re  r..  "'■■'^  I  • 

LIBRARY  USr~^  


5'P,«A-50m.2/64 
(E3494sl0)94i2'2 


^■^^^ss;.^^ 


